Friends With Benefits, Stiles Style
by CaileeChaos
Summary: A Stiles/OC mini-series in which Stiles and a local spitfire attempt a "Friends With Benefits" type relationship. Because even Stiles needs some lovin'. FULL SUMMARY INSIDE.
1. Chapter 1

**Despite the fact that I still have three uncompleted stories and absolutely no time to write, I couldn't help myself. Stiles is simply too adorably delicious to resist! So here it is - a Stiles mini-series. It'll only be five parts but each chapter is relatively long in length. **

**WARNING: **This story includes…wait for it…sex. That's right, kiddies, cause guess what? Teenagers do have sex. Not all of them. Not even most of them. But a few do and Stiles is one of those few. You're welcome. It's nothing too graphic so don't worry. If you're not into that kinda thing feel free to move along, I'll stroke my wounded ego later.

**SUMMARY: **Stiles is running from the cops – it's Derek's fault, as usual. Another poorly planned mission gone wrong and Stiles is in for it as a result. Enter Samantha Brown, a cute, independent brunette that Stiles has known since second grade. While helping him evade the police, Sam can't help but notice just how cute Stiles has gotten recently. Things quickly begin to heat up and Stiles starts to wonder just what it was he saw in Lydia. Follow Sam and Stiles as they try to work out a relationship in this short, quirky mini-series. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>PART UNO<strong>

I'd lived in Beacon Hills for nearly nine years and there was still one thing I could not bring myself to get used to: the twenty-four hour ice cream shoppe. Perched on a bench outside the Corner Cone Creamery, I polished off my strawberry cone and dumped the wrapper in the trash bin beside the take-out window. The wail of distant sirens pierced my ears suddenly. I raised a delicate brow and spun on my heels to begin the trek home.

As the screeching sirens grew louder a chill ran down my spine. Strange occurrences had been popping up quite frequently in Beacon Hills for the past several weeks. Animal attacks…disappearances…freak things that no one could explain. With that chilling thought I tugged the zipper on my hoodie higher and tucked my hands into my jean pockets. I stopped, however, upon hearing a terrified shriek behind me.

Rather than some rabid beast ravaging a civilian, I saw a teenage boy crouched on the sidewalk, apologies rapidly spilling from his lips as he helped a woman collect her groceries that littered the pavement. The boy with short hair glanced over his shoulders and bolted.

As he grew closer, my brow furrowed. I recognized him instantly. "Stiles?"

The squeak of the boy's Chuck Taylors slowed. "H-hey, Sam."

His face was flushed as he awkwardly flailed his arms in a failed attempted to look casual. Smiling tentatively, he glanced back once more and panted. "I, uh, I have to go…but I'll catch you later, okay?"

"Stiles, are they after you?" I jerked my chin in a silent acknowledgement of the police cars now zooming down the avenue.

"Uh…yeah. Kind of. Yes."

"Isn't your dad the sheriff?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"Awesome," I snorted. A grin split my face as I held out an open palm to him. "C'mon."

"Uh," Stiles hesitated before accepting my outstretched hand. I tugged him along, dragging him through a back alley on Canal Street. "W-where are you taking me? Please tell me you aren't some serial killer who's going to rape me and leave me in the sewer."

"Yes, Stiles. I'm going to force you to have sex with me, which honestly, I don't think would take much force, and then murder you. Have you made peace with Jesus?"

"Have I made peace…ha, oh, about that," he laughed, gasping for breath as we jogged to a slow walk. The alley emptied by a drug store on Vincent Drive. I instructed the out of breath boy to act casual and led him to a restaurant with outdoor seating. I requested a table for two and we immediately took our seats. Stiles snatched up a menu and ducked behind it.

"You've got some real skill there, Stilinsky. You must be a pro at hide-and-seek."

He blushed, shrugging nonchalantly. "Yeah, I know." He dropped the menu and twitched. Nervously, he looked over his shoulder.

"Relax."

A pair of honey warm brown eyes flickered to mine. "Why do I get the feeling you've done this before?"

Crimson flushed my cheeks. "We all have pasts," I gave a shy smile.

His lips tightened. He nodded thoughtfully. "That's hot."

I laughed mirthfully. A waitress came over to take our drink orders and offer us the daily specials. Stiles met my gaze. He motioned the woman with her pad and pencil. "Hungry? My treat."

I almost replied, 'No, thanks. I just had ice cream.' Fortunately my brain registered the fact that Stiles was practically asking me out on a date and destroyed the refusal before the words had a chance to form on my lips. I smiled. "Sure."

The waitress left us and Stiles shifted in the booth to drape an arm over the back of the seat. His fingertips lightly grazed my shoulder. "So, Sam, what's a pretty girl like you doing alone downtown on a Friday night?"

"What's a cute boy like you doing running from the cops?"

He paused. "Touché."

Identical grins were shared when the sudden sound of a siren flared up. Stiles stiffened. "Shit," he hissed, sliding down in the booth. I ran a hand down his surprisingly firm bicep, "Calm down, they can't see you. Even if they could there is no way they can positively I.D. you from that far."

My words fell on deaf ears. He continued to mutter dirty words, banging his head against the vinyl booth. Rolling my eyes, I shifted and threw my leg over his waist. "Wha…" His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open. I gave a coy smile, "You don't want to be seen."

I settled into his lap, my body blocking his from view. Stiles went from cussing to blushing in .02 seconds flat. As the cars grew near, I lowered my head allowing my hair to cast a curtain between Stiles and the road. "You okay?" I teased.

"I-I…uh, I'm fine. Yeah,_ ha_, I'm great," he stammered adorably. The innocent look about him sparked something inside of me. Without thought, I slid forward on his hips and pressed my lips to his. He responded immediately, moving his mouth gently against mine. He brought a hand to my waist, gripping tightly to steady me in his lap. We remained locked in that intimate embrace until the patrol cars passed and the sirens ceased.

I reared back slightly, eyes traveling down the street. I licked my lips, my tongue accidently swiping the curve of Stiles' top lip. Our gazes locked, I murmured, "Coast is clear."

"C-cool," he whispered. His stare flickered to my lips then back to my eyes. "Cool," he repeated before capturing my lips with his own. His lips were full and warm as they smoothly scraped against my own. They parted, suddenly, the tip of his tongue licking my top lip, begging. With a breath, I divided my lips and shivered when he began exploring my mouth so expertly.

"I must say, Stilinsky, I'm impressed," I confessed. He brought a hand up to cup my face, fingers tangling in my disheveled hair. Breathing heavily he attempted to smirk, "Why?"

I didn't respond with words. Instead I shot him a small grin and continued my assault on his mouth. We didn't part again until a very impatient someone cleared there throat several times to our left. Breaking, we turned to stare at the interrupter. Our waitress stood, hands on her wide hips, glaring. "We kindly ask you to leave."

We froze, caught. "Sure thing," Stiles nodded after a beat. I slid off his lap and navigated the maze of booths and tables off the restaurant property. Now with space between Stiles and myself the gravity of the situation hit me. "Oh, God." I'd just made out with Stiles. Stiles! And _I'd_ kissed _him_.

"Hey, you okay?" There was a gentle hand on my elbow. I shot the kind boy a smile and felt my worries and insecurities melting away, "I'm fine."

"So…" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his next as we made our way down the empty sidewalk. "Thanks for…um…helping…with that."

"Mind if I ask why the police were after you?"

"Do I mind? No. Can I answer? Also, no."

Giggling, I smirked, "Of course not. Because where's the fun in that?"

"Exactly," he beamed. "Um, would you like a ride home? My Jeep's parked over by the power plant. It's a bit of a walk but-"

"A ride would be lovely, Stiles."

The walk was long but not unpleasant. We talked about almost everything _but _the kiss and I started to feel that familiar tingle. When I first moved to Beacon Hills in the second grade Stiles had been in my class. Though my memory of the move was vague I distinctly remembered Stiles giving me one of his chocolate chip cookies at lunchtime on my first day. As a result I harbored a grade school crush on him until well into junior high. By the time we hit eighth grade I realized a relationship would never be possible with the charming boy, which basically sucked due to the fact that he got cuter, funnier, and smarter as we grew older.

"Sam?"

"Huh?" I snapped back to reality. Stiles shot me a cute grin and I realized we'd arrived at the power plant. I withheld a snarky comment about the shady location of his car and thanked him when he opened the passenger door. Sliding between him and the open door, I sucked in a quick breath when my breasts brushed his arm. We froze, our eyes finding each other's. Our lips met and suddenly he was all around me. He pinned me to the side of the Jeep and consumed every sense I possessed.

He smelled like vanilla. For some reason this pleased me greatly and I smiled into the kiss. Nipping at my bottom lip, Stiles leant his forehead on mine. "You taste like sugar."

"Hmm, like ice cream?" I pecked his lips, my hands finding their way to his hips. They rested there naturally, looping in the hoops of his jeans, fingertips brushing the skin of his flat stomach as his shirt rode up.

"Sam…"

"Yes, Stiles?" I murmured. The corner of his lips twitched upward and he grazed my mouth tenderly. He pressed the full length of his body against mine. I revealed in the sensation and gripped him tighter. Slender fingers caressed my neck and cheeks as his lips nursed mine in a superb fashion. Locking one hand around the back of my neck, he asked if I wanted to get out of there. I couldn't respond fast enough.

We stumbled up the stairs of the Stilinsky home and into his bedroom like two drunken idiots. He peeled off his shirt, kicking the door shut. I took a moment to appreciate his body. His chest was flat, settling into a nice four pack - a four pack with potential to be a six. Licking my lips I crooked a finger in his direction. A grin split his face as he obliged.

In a messy tangle we fell back onto his bed. He placed his arms on either side of me, bracing himself. "Let me know if I hurt you," he told me, nibbling my neck. I arched my back, fingers digging into his bare back. I managed a breathy, "Okay."

When I felt his hands begin to creep up my shirt I shoved him off of me. His eyes widened in alarm, "Sor…"

I slipped off my hoodie, lifting my tank top to show off a lacy caramel bra. Again, his lips broke out into a grin as he drank in my half naked self. Slowly, I reached behind me to unclasp my bra. "Oh, God," he gasped, biting his knuckle. I grinned at his boyish ways and allowed the bra to fall from my shoulders. Stiles squeaked. Willing myself not to blush, I tugged him back down.

He felt damn good. Every little thing he did, the kisses and caresses, the tender nips and bites, set my skin on fire. My body instinctively responded to his touch, my mind was just along for the amazing ride. Trailing down his abs my fingers tackled the button his jeans. I unzipped his pants and wiggled them. I could feel him smile against my breast. It didn't take long for Stiles to remove the rest of his clothing and then help with mine.

Lying naked beneath him I couldn't help but feel exposed and unsure of myself. Two brown eyes swept over my physique, lapping up the female glory. When he got to my feet, his eyes traveled back up, halting when our gazes met. He moved one of his braced arms, lowering himself. The freed arm came to rest on my face tenderly. "You're beautiful."

This caused my furious blush to deepen. I bit my lip, feigning confidence. "Yeah. I know."

Stiles laughed quietly before suddenly sobering. "We don't…_have_ to do this, you know."

I allowed a beat to lapse, my heart calming. I could feel every ounce of his body on mine. My hand ran up his bicep, over his shoulder blade, to his neck. His jaw line was smooth. I stroked my thumb over the shaved skin and nodded my head, "Yes, we do." I pulled his mouth to mine. His erection brushed my inner thigh. A moan bubbled up my throat.

Stiles suckled a path down the column of my neck over the ample mounds of my breasts to my stomach. He pressed several kisses to the sensitive area, licking it once the skin reddened. My back arching, I hissed, the low sound drawing out longer and louder when his tongue hit the most foreign part of me. "Stiles!"

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I owe nothing. At all. Seriously. I'm broke.<strong>

**Reviews are loved/appreciated. Even flames. Bring it. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, the morning after. Let's see how Stiles and Sam cope with their dirty deed. **

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><p><strong>PART DOS<strong>

"Phone…Stiles, your phone!" I grumbled, rolling onto my side to face him. The bare chested youth moaned, sleep caking his voice. "Huh…?"

"Your phone." Growling, I shoved his shoulder. He gasped, flailing as he sprung upright. Snatching his phone off the bedside table, he flipped it open. "He-hello? Scott? Whoa, dude, slow down. Wait, what? Hold tight. I'll be there soon." Stiles snapped the cell shut and stood. He tugged on a pair of jeans. Through half lidded eyes I watched the denim slide up his pale body, covering his sculpted backside. "Um, Scott's in some trouble. I have to get him."

"Is he okay?" I yawned, propping up on my elbows.

"No, no, no," Stiles knelt on the bed. "Stay, please. Go back to sleep. I should be back soon."

"And when Sheriff Stilinsky finds a naked girl in your bed?"

He blushed darting off the mattress. He stalled then yanked a flannel button down off the back of his desk chair. He passed it to me. "It's clean…I think."

A giggle escaped me, my eyes playfully rolling. As I shrugged it on I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes followed the natural bounce of my breasts. The shirt was softer than I would've thought. It fell on my shoulders, leaving the valley between my breasts exposed. Stiles continued to peer down at me, lust disguisable in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to mine. "Go back to sleep," he murmured.

A soft sound of agreement fizzled passed my lips. I fell back on to the pillows and pulled the thick, navy comforter around me. My gazed trailed after him as he disappeared through the bedroom door. Alone, I observed his room. I noticed that the space was clean for a teenage boy. It smelled like him, that sweet, homey vanilla scent. I buried my face in the comforter, fisting the ends of the flannel sleeves in my delicate fingers. I slept with Stiles. _I slept with Stiles_. And it was magnificent. As memories over routed my brain a furious crimson blush flames my skin. Tingles swept my body. At the mere thought of last night my body began to stir. "Holy shit."

Calming myself, I snuggled deeper into his bed and returned to a dreamless slumber. I awoke a little over an hour later to the sound of a stammering Stiles. "I-I know. I'm proud of me too…_again_. Yeah, o-okay. See ya, b-bud." Shutting the door, the flustered boy closed his eyes and slumped.

"Rough day?"

"Jesus Christ," he jumped. I laughed, "Sorry."

"Hey," Stiles spoke. His face was serene but worry laced his honey brown eyes. I sat up, "Is Scott okay?"

The youth sighed. He ran a hand over his close-shaven head. "For now, yes."

"Running from the police…strange phone calls….careful, Stiles, someone might think you were up to something."

He chuckled dryly. "You have no idea."

Stiles took me home roughly thirty minutes later. Exchanging goodbyes was slightly awkward. Neither one of us knew exactly what to say. Before I could slip out of the Jeep Stilinsky captured my chin in a gentle grasp and grazed my lips sweetly. "See ya, Sam."

It was a bold move for the usually shy guy. I graced him with a small smile. "Later, Stiles." With butterflies in my stomach I walked away.

I didn't see my mysterious friend again until a week after our one-night-stand. I was at my locker digging for the Econ notes I'd misplaced when the familiar squeak of ratty Converse his my ears. Stiles halted beside me, leaning against the row of metal containers.

"Hey, Stiles," I fought a blush. Groaning, I abandoned all hope of finding the lost notes and swung my locker shut, spinning the dial once more.

"I'm freaking out," he proclaimed with wide eyes. I cradled my books waiting for him to elaborate. When it became apparent he had no plans to do so I smirked, "Alright, I'll bite. Why are you freaking out?"

"When you flirt with a girl there is protocol. When you date a girl there is protocol. But when you-" He motioned between us. "-do what we did there is no protocol. At least none that doesn't end with me looking like a complete tool."

"Stiles," I chuckled. He continued before I could, speaking hastily and using wild hand gestures, "I didn't know whether to call or-or text or whether or not I should just leave you alone. I-I don't know. Do I leave you alone? Do I-"

"Stiles!" I pressed two fingers to his plump lips. His words fell, a cute but frustrated expression dawning his boyish features. "As usual, you need to relax. Are you always so…so…"

"Strung out? Energetic?" he suggested. I nodded. He smirked, "Yeah. I blame the Adderall."

"I don't really think there is any proper etiquette to follow in our situation. So, rest easy, you don't owe me anything," I shrugged as we strutted off towards my third period. "Unless, you know, you're interested in something more."

"More?" he squeaked.

Grinning coyly, I teased, "I'm very flexible, Stiles."

"Oh, I remember." A huge, wolfish grin spread his mouth. With a roll of my eyes, I stopped. We'd reached my classroom. I hugged my books tighter, my arm growing tired, and gave a lazy shrug. "Things like this happen, Stiles."

"Not to me they don't."

I wanted to kiss him them, push aside his self-doubts but at the risk of making him uncomfortable or pushing him away I resisted. He peered at me for a moment and the warning bell rand. Glancing down the hallway, which was rapidly clearing, Stiles sighed. "I need to get to class now, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm flattered. Maybe if you're still freaking out later we'll grab a coffee or something. Actually, you don't need coffee – too much caffeine. Perhaps lunch one day."

"Deal," he grinned.

I waved bye and entered the class.

Despite our plans to meet up Stiles and I haven't spoken in days. Every time we tried to make plans one of us fell through. I had swim practice. He had detention. I had a project. He had plans with Scott. And so on it goes.

"Have you talking to Stiles, yet?" my best friend Olivia asked. Tearing my gaze from the mirror I shot her a frown. "No."

"He's going to the dance, isn't he? Talk to him there."

I perked up, "He is?"

"Yep," she popped her p. "I heard he's taking Lydia."

My perk up vanished as hastily as it came. "Lydia? Lydia-Lydia? 'My brains are in my Botox' Lydia?"

Livy snorted, pinning on a false eyelash. "Those rumors are not true. Lydia has never had Botox. Plus, she's actually really smart. Book smart, as least. I used to copy off her in British Lit. Too bad she lacks general common sense."

I sighed. "Great. Gorgeous, rich, and now she's smart. Fuckin' super."

Damien and Taylor, our dates, arrived promptly at seven-thirty. The boys looked stunning in their tuxes. Damien caught Olivia as she flung herself at him, squeeing loudly. "Ravishing," he whispered, kissing his girlfriend's temple. My date, who was also my best guy friend, curled his lip in repugnance, "They're disgusting."

"I hate to say it, love," I hugged him. "But you only think that because you're gay."

"Gay or straight no two people should ever be that lovey-dovey. Where's the passion? Where's raw, unimaginable lust?" Coiling an arm around my waist, he stared at them in a tragic wonder. Finally, he snapped, "C'mon, love birds, we got a dance to get to."

Beacon Hills High, like all public schools, sucks. However, I'll give them two things. One – they serve damn good friend chicken. Two – when they throw a dance, they throw a dance.

The gym was decked to the nines. Decorated beautifully with dozens of twinkle lights strung over the dance floor, the room was packed with teenagers. Strobe lights gave the room an edgy feel that went perfectly with the pulsating pop music the live band was producing. One foot in the door and the boys drug us to the dance space.

The evening passed in a blissful blur and soon Damien was tapping Taylor on the shoulder.

"Time to roll."

"We're leaving?" My brow creased.

"Damien got the idea to ditch formal an hour early and go play some black-light bowling."

"Fun," I beamed. "Let me get my shoes."

We gathered our belongings and headed out. Bursting through the gym doors I stopped as a white and black blur caught my eyes. Peering over Taylor's broad shoulders, I dropped my date's arm, "Hang on." Detaching from the group I waltzed over to Stiles. "Hey, you."

"Sam," he gave a delicate nos. His eyes danced over my body, resting on the slits in my dress near my navel that showed off some skin. The corners of his lips shifted upward. "You look stunning, as usual."

"Thank you." I tugged at his tie. "You don't look too bad yourself. This is definitely a good look for you. Very James Bond." We shared a laugh and I glanced around. "Where's Lydia?"

He rose an immaculately arched brow. "Keeping tabs on me now?"

"Olivia," I stated simply.

"Right. She knows everything."

"That she does."

Stiles stuffed his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants. His watch glinted off the florescent lights and he sighed. "Lydia is off somewhere, running after Jackson."

"I thought they broke up."

"They did."

Pity swelled within me. Stiles looked so forlorn, the pout on his pretty face absolutely heart breaking. I expressed my sympathies. He casually rolled his shoulders, a bitter smile gracing his lips, "It's all good."

"No, it's not," I seized his hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Do you want to get out of here?" His eyebrows hit the ceiling. I slapped him playfully. "Not for that. Some friends and I are going bowling. Tonight they're turning on the black lights. Consider this your invitation."

"While I appreciate the offer I have to get Lydia home," he mumbled. I sent him a hopeful look, "Are you sure? It's gonna be a blast. Livy and I are God awful bowlers; it's sure to be a riot."

"Yeah…thanks, though."

"Well, alright." I gather my dress, making sure I didn't step on the train. Sliding up to him, I pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Cold fingers grazed my back. Apparently a little peck wasn't enough for Stiles. Lush lips covered mine. The dress forgotten, my fingers grasped his shirt. I was losing myself in his kiss. He tasted like cheap punch. I licked every crevice of his mouth, lapping up the corn syrupy taste. We stumbled backwards until I collided with the metal lockers. Gasping, I arched forward in pain.

"I'm sorry, sorry," he winced.

"It's okay," I pulled him back to me, my fingers cupping the back of his neck. Our mouths melded beautifully, his strong hands rubbing my sides sensually. I felt my body burn as I recalled the chiseled perfection of Stiles' naked body.

"Sam…" Stiles nipped my bottom lip. "Your friends are watching."

Sure enough, he was right. Just down the hall my creeper friends stood, mouths agape, staring. Blushing fiercely, I relaxed my strong-hold on him and allowed my hands to slide down over his firm pecks to rest on his flat stomach, just above his happy trail. I bit my lip. "I guess I need to go."

"And I should probably find Lydia."

I pecked his lips, sent him a smile. "You know, we've got to stop meeting like this, Stiles," I joked before spinning in my heels and trudging away. "Don't speak. I mean it, not a word," I demanded of my friends as I reached the group. Silently laughing, they exchanged grins and followed me out to the car.

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><p><strong>The first chapter seemed to get a pretty warm welcome. Let's see if chapter two can do the same. Thank you so much to everyone reading and especially to <strong>Crazyluver08, wizard101, **and **Spenceer** for their lovely reviews. You people rock my penguin socks. **


	3. Chapter 3

**PART TRES**

The elevator chimed, an electronic voice alerting me that I reached my floor. Two steel doors parted and I entered the cold lobby of the Intense Care Unit. The vase of flowers was heavy in my hand. Asking a nurses' aid where Lydia Martin's room was, I marched on, my heels clacking on the sterile tile.

Through the cracked blinds of Lydia's room I could see several bunches of balloons and clusters of flowers. While Lydia wasn't the most loved student, she was popular amongst her peers and our hearts went out to her.

"The doctors don't know when she'll wake up."

"What happened to her, Stiles?" I asked, not needing to look to identify my new company.

"While you and I were…" he cleared his throat. "She got attacked when she was looking for Jackson. Another freak animal accident."

My classmate's voice was tortured, wavering. We entered the room and I placed my vase of daises on the window sill. Standing side by side, we gazed sadly down at the fragile unconscious form. She looked deathly ill. Lydia's skin had a yellow, ghostly hue and brown rings circled her eyes. There was a large white bandage wrapped around her right forearm, an IV sticking out just above its edge.

"Will she be okay?"

"They think so," he sighed. My hand found his. Surprised jolted me when he laced his fingers intimately through mine. I looked at him, studying the depressed frown on his face.

"She's lucky…stupid, but lucky."

He spun on me, anger lacing his words, "This wasn't her fault."

"That's not what I meant," I tightened my grip on his hand when he tried to pull away. "Lydia is stupid because she's blind. Look around, Stiles. Where's Jackson, the boy she adores so much? He's not here but _you _are."

A sheepish, deer-in-headlights expression consumed him.

"Like I said, she's lucky," I wistfully mumbled. Glancing once more at Lydia, I said a silent prayer for her and left.

"Sam!" Stiles' familiar voice startled me just as I reached my car. He jogged to me, cheeks flushed. His eyes were stormy; he looked severely distraught. A tic working in his jaw. "She follows him around like a puppy and I follow her. It's a pathetic, vicious cycle and I'm sick of it."

"So what are you gonna do about it, Stiles?"

He kissed me.

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><p>Two nights later Livy, Damien, Damien's little brother Porter, Taylor, and I were holed up in Damien's basement. Some horror flick was playing on the flat screen TV. Every few minutes the boys would hoot and holler over some cheesy gore effect. Olivia and I were lounging, bored on the couch.<p>

"This movie blows," Olivia hissed. "I haven't been scared once. So far it's been nothing but naked chicks and guts."

Drawing my knees to my chest, I pursed my lips. "Which is probably why the guys are so entertained. Ever Taylor is enjoying it."

"Gore, every little boy's best friend."

Picking at our nails we lapsed into a brief silence. Eventually, I craned over and muttered, "I finally talked to Stiles."

"What? When?"

"Remember when I took those flowers to Lydia?"

"How's she doing? Isn't she still in the hospital?"

I nodded. "She finally woke up. They moved her out of the ICU."

"So what does that have to do with you and Mr. One-Night-Stand?"

"Well he was there and we started talking…we kinda decided that we're…I don't know, going to date, I guess. Now that I think about it we didn't do much talking at all. Mostly we just made out in my car."

"You're such a skank!"

The boys glanced at us, alarmed by her sudden outburst. I slapped my best friend. Eye narrowed, I snarled, "Shut up, I am not."

"Are you comfortable being someone's fuck buddy? I thought you had more self-worth than that."

"We are not fuck buddies. We slept together once. Besides you know I like him and that he's a really good guy. Casual sex isn't his style. He doesn't have enough tact for that; he's too socially awkward to pull it off.

"You just called him tactless and awkward yet you desperately want to date him. This is a sickness, Sammy." She frowned. "I'm still reeling from the shock of you sleeping with him."

"It was so good," I grinned. "Beneath all those baggy tee shirts and hoodies he has the body of a god. A very _muscled_ god."

"Who the hell are you talking about, Sam?" chimed Damien.

"Stilinsky," his girlfriend informed him before I could stop her.

"Olivia!" I smacked her as Damien shouted, "You had sex with Stiles?"

"Oh my God," I groaned, bury my face in a couch cushion. The gore-fest forgotten three pairs of male eyes flickered to me. A million accusatory statements came flying my way when I abruptly heard Taylor over the ruckus, "Nice, Sam. I got a look at him one day in gym last semester. Not bad at all."

"Thanks, Taylor," I mumbled as Damien excited told Porter about catching Stiles and I making out at formal. For the rest of the night I was mocked and poked fun at. When I began to get seriously pissed Livy called them off. Their attention drifted to a Family Guy rerun and I was left in peace. It wasn't long before I fell asleep dreaming about a certain brown-eyed charmer.

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><p>The night air was freezing. Standing frigidly by the gym doors I waited impatiently for the lacrosse team. Sniffling, I tugged my scarf tighter and glanced at the stands. Tonight was the last game before state. Though we'd already qualified Coach arranged a pick-up came with our rival school for practice. The stands were packed, peers and family already cheering up a storm. Suddenly, the double doors burst open and a dozen or so rowdy boys charged out. Scott and Stiles pulled up the rear.<p>

He caught sight of me first. An embarrassed but genuine grin slipped onto those lips I enjoy so much. Scoot waved; I wished him luck. He thanks me before turning and jogging after his teammates.

"I won't keep you," I spoke. "I just wanted to say good luck. You'll be great out there. First string!"

"Yeah," he smiled bashfully. "My luck I'll trip on my cleats or score for the wrong team."

"I'm not going to lie, if you do either I'll mock you. For forever."

"Of course. 'Preciate it."

I placed a quick kiss on the nerdy boy's cheek and told him not to miss then joined Olivia in the stands. "How's your sex slave?" she asked as I plopped down on the metal bleachers. I quipped something sarcastic and we huddled together under a quilt my grandmother sent me last winter. Sharing a hot chocolate, we watched the game attentively. We cheered loudly and, at times, obnoxiously. Whenever Stiles took the field I felt my vocal chords strain as I whooped for him. He was good. Not the best, albeit, but he had excellent aim. When the game was over we stood victorious.

Fans vacated the stands to mob the lacrosse boys, congratulatory shouts ringing out. Olivia dove straight into the madness. I hung back, catching glimpse of friends inside the hoard. A show fell in beside me.

Allison smiled politely. "Hey."

"Hi." I hadn't seen Allison since her aunt's funeral. The entire student body was invited – her father's idea to help her cope. The Argents were still relatively new to Beacon Hills. That coupled with the accusations regarding the Hale house fire cause many to keep their distance from the service. Taylor, Livy, and I attended along with Scott and Stiles.

"Good game," Allison commented. "I'm surprised Olivia came. Sports don't exactly seem like her thing."

"They aren't. She's more of a mani-pedi kinda girl," I giggled. I curtly nodded towards the team. "Do you think we're ready for State?"

She shot me a giant grin. "Oh, yes. Are you going to go? Coach is letting thirty students take a charter bus with the team. A cheering squad on wheels."

"I might," I shrugged. "I take it you're going…"

"Scott asked me to, so most likely." She blushed a pretty shade of pink that only deepened when I smiled, "Back together at last. Livy and I were wondering how long it would take. You two are too cute not to be a couple."

"Speak of the devil," she smirked as Scott and Stiles walked over. Scott gave a happy grin, "Ladies. Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes," we chorused, shooting each other grins. I nudged Stiles, "You were great. And, of course, props to our fearless captain. Err, co-captain."

Stiles flushed at the compliment, Scott nodding his thanks. Behind them Jackson was bathing in the attention his peers were dishing out. I rolled my eyes, scoffing. The others followed my line of sight and a small Jackson-bashing round commenced.

"Not to be rude, but we should get going," cut in Allison. Scott nodded, "Right. Later, guys."

They waved before trotting off to the locker room so Scott could change. Awkwardly, Stiles stalled. "Jackson might be getting all the glory but did you see me out there? I was awesome."

"How humble you are, Stilinsky."

He grinned wolfishly, tugging on his jersey. "Well you know."

I walked with him to the locker room. We chatted easily. Reaching the doors, he gently grasped my elbow, "If you're hungry we can make up for that dinner we never got to finish." I burned crimson at his reference to the night we slept together when this whole fiasco began. I nodded, shyly smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>Writing the scene in the hospital was very hard for me. My feelings towards Lydia aren't so friendly and it was difficult not to carry that onto Sam too much. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it nonetheless. The next chapter is by far my favorite: Stiles and Sam's first date. Oh…good times.<strong>

**A major shout out to the following!: **KeepThisaSecret, AliceKingsleigh, Silverspear, HorrorGurlxOxO, Dawnie-7, **and **GreenEyedGirlx. **I appreciate all of your reviews and just want to say thanks so much, you people are awesome. **


	4. Chapter 4

**PART CUATRO **

Stiles drove, parking the Jeep outside of a sandwich shop. My stomach churned. So much for a great date. I sighed, climbing from the vehicle, wondering if we were just two friends having dinner in his mind. Stiles offered his arm and led me into the deli. He instantly informed me that he was paying. While he picked up the tab I got our drinks and moved to a booth by the front window.

"What are you doing?" I peered up at him in confusion. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll seeeeeee."

Stiles drove out of city limits raising several questions from me. Less than six minutes into my interrogation he cut me off with a quirky request for me to 'Shut that pretty little mouth' of mine. Snorting, I ceased speaking and fiddled with the knobs on the Jeep's radio. Finally, I found a decent classic rock station. Styx floated from the speakers.

"Good pick. A girl after my own heart," he joked, comically tossing a hand over his chest.

When we hit Vickersburg, Stiles grinned at me. "Ever been to the Gala?"

"The Opera House?" He nodded. "A few times. We see the Christmas show there every year."

"Have you ever been to the midnight screening?"

The Jeep was suddenly in park. I looked up at the famed Gala Opera House looming impressively before us. A banner advertising the midnight showing of Jaws hung from the second story banner. Stiles impishly grinned. "I know it's not a chick flick but it's a classic an-"

"A great movie," I interjected. "My dad and I used to watch this all the time."

An usher led us through the lobby to the rear exit of the Opera House. Dozens of couples and families were already there, scattered across the back lawn chatting happily as they waited for the feature film to begin. Tiptoeing through the mass we found a spot towards the left of the massive screen and plopped down with our food. My eyes danced around drinking in all the merriment around us. I smiled, glancing at Stiles only to find him staring back. Again, I blushed. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. Unwrapping his sandwich, Stiles took a major bite. Lettuce stuck out the corner of his mouth, mustard dripping down his chin. I laughed, handing him a napkin. He wiped and nervously apologized.

"You have got to lighten up, Stilinsky! Stop second guessing everything you do. I already know you're a dork and I think it's adorable so stop trying to hide it."

"Adorable?" he scoffed. "Great. Jackson's hot. Scott's charming. Danny's gay. And I'm _adorable_."

I threw my head back, laughter spilling out. I swatted him playfully. "Don't forget funny… Oh, wow. Does Jackson know how you feel about him?"

"Hardy har."

We finished eating just as the movie began to play. Sitting our trash aside, I propped back on my elbows, Stiles nestled behind me. The movie started slowly and my arms quickly grew tired and sore. Twisting, I swiveled and lay down. My head rested on his thigh. I heard a sharp intake of breath. The boy stiffened for a good bit and I contemplated my move. Should I get up? Eventually he relaxed, his hand coming to rest on my side. For a majority of the movie his slender fingers tapped absentmindedly on my stomach with little rhythm.

On the screen the unnaturally giant shark was viciously attacking the fisherman's boat. Wincing, I looked up at Stiles who was peering, jaw wide open, at the screen.

"Maybe there's a shark in Beacon Hills," I whispered. He looked as if he'd forgotten I was there. I grinned at his tiny attention disorder, "What?"

"Never mind," I shook my head. He shot me a frustrated look before returning his attention to the movie. Or I thought he had. I felt his hand creeping down my arm, stopping to slip his hand in mine. Our fingers locked together, his thumb stroked my knuckles. My head lulled to the side, peering up at him with uncertainty.

Stiles' eyes bore into mine. His expression was unreadable for once. His free hand came up to brush my bangs to the side. He gently toyed with my hair before letting his hand fall limp. We sat like that for a while, the action flick completely forgotten. Never before had I been so content to merely look at someone.

Lost in his warming eyes, I reached up, my fingertips grazing his jaw. I cupped his neck; his short brown hair felt silky underneath my hand. A look of sadness passed his face. My brow furrowed. I pulled away instantly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "I just…ha, I feel like I've wasted the last seven years."

"What do y-"

"I like you, Sam."

I blushed, joyful tingles erupting in my stomach. "I like you, too."

Stiles gingerly kissed me. His touch was so tender that I shivered. "I don't understand," I whispered as he pulled away.

"Lydia," he state simply. "All this time I've been practically obsessed with her and all the while here is this great girl who seems like she's actually interested in me, for God knows whatever reason."

"Don't make me your rebound girl, Stiles," I spoke softly.

"I'm not…you're too good for that. Can I ask you something?" I nodded. "That night when I was running from the cops, why'd you help me without bitching about why they were after me? And why'd you kiss me?"

"Well…I figured I've known you long enough to know you're a pretty decent guy. Whatever beef you had with the police was most likely minor and it was your business. As for the kiss…I don't know. You just looked so cute and flustered."

"Cute, right," he snickered bitterly, despite the fact that he was grinning. Rolling my eyes I shifted so that I was seated in his lap. I slung my arms around his neck as he wound his loosely around my hips. "Back to this again? Stiles, you're going to have to accept that this mug of yours-" I jerked his chin "-is cute. And _adorable_. And slightly boyish. That's not a bad thing. However, coming from someone who has seen what you hide under these clothes….trust me when I say that you are hot, Stiles. Mouthwateringly so."

I trailed a single hand down his chest and stomach, soothing his ego. Stiles visibly brightened, a goofy grin splitting his face. He rubbed my side, "You're pretty smokin' too." He pressed a kiss to my lips, breathing, "And way out of my league."

I shrugged. "I like slummin' it."

We kissed until the movie ended and the film goers dispersed. Stiles offered to drive me home but hinted that he wasn't quite ready for the night to end.

"Where would we go? Is there anything open this late? I'd invite you back to mind but my parents would flip."

Stiles shrugged, hugging me to his side as we idled by his car. "I don't know…we could go to the park and…star…_gaze_?" he mumbled awkwardly, then shot me a questioning glance. "People do that, right?"

"I'm sure they do," I gave a short chuckle. "C'mon. Let's drive around, we'll find something."

Somehow we wound up at the twenty-four hour ice cream shoppe. Two single scoops of cheesecake ice cream rapidly led to a steamy make-out session in the back seat of his baby blue Jeep. Stiles took me home not long afterward, promising to see me at school on Monday. Heart soaring, I virtually skipped inside.

* * *

><p>On Wednesday Allison and I waited in the parking lot after school, chit-chatting as we waited for Scott and Stiles to finish with lacrosse practice. Coach was practically killing them preparing for State so Allison and I decided to give them a break. When they finally joined us, freshly showered, we were all starving and left hurriedly. The Mexican restaurant was fairly busy. Stiles ordered a huge bowl of cheese dip while we waited. A few snarky comments later and tortilla chips were flying.<p>

"Guys, guys, wait," Stiles spastically flopped his arms as an irate waitress made her way over. We choked on our laughter, shooting each other silly grins. Scott politely asked the elderly Latino woman if there was a problem. She looked like she'd just swallowed a batch of sour grapes. Pulling her pad out, she glared at us and ripped off the check, slamming it on the table top. "Your food will be out shortly."

"Uhh, can I get some more Dr. Pepper? Thanks!" Stiles called as she stalked away.

"Expect a lougie in your drink now," giggled Allison. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly at the boy beside her. Scott returned the gesture. Though the exchange was miniscule I felt the depth behind it. Jealously briefly coursed through me; I longed for what they had.

"Here, try this," Stiles' soothing voice pierced my thoughts. He held up a tortilla chip with cheese dip and sour cream on it. My nose wrinkled in disgust. He spoke before I could protest, "I know you don't like sour cream, but please, trust me. Just try it. I promise it's friggin' delicious."

It was on the tip of my tongue to decline but he looked so adorably hopeful that my lips parted of their own accord. A slight blush tinted his cheeks as he slid the chip passed my lips. I could instantly taste the saltiness of the tortilla chip, and the familiar tang of the cheese dip. However, the third taste was foreign to me. Gagging almost immediately, I snatched up my water and gulped it down. "That was terrible! You're such a liar!"

Scott and Allison burst with laughter, Stiles grumbling as he scarfed down a fistful of chips. Our food came and as we ate we chatted easily. I'd known Scott and Stiles for the longest time but it amazed me how at ease I was with them. Even Allison, who had only been in town a few months, seemed like a really good friend. At the thought I smiled, glancing at the wonderful people surrounding me. In that moment I felt so incredibly fortunate.

We decided to catch a movie after we ate despite the fact that the boys were exhausted from practice. The new X-men movie was the only flick playing and we'd missed the first twenty minutes. Sneaking in the back, we found seats in the third row. Stiles muttered something about neck issues and we scooted down the aisle, Scott leading. Allison sat next to him and I next to her. Stiles took the empty seat to my right. The moment we sat down Stiles took my hand in his. Though the movie wasn't exactly the hand holding type I welcome his bold action, lacing my fingers through his.

That night I found out something crucial about Scott: he cannot stand it when people talk during a movie. This was a problem considering the fact that Stiles, Allison, and I provided commentary for the entire duration of the film. As we exited the theatre, Scott trudged ahead. He threw his arms over his head, "That was horrible! I am never going to a movie with the three of you again."

"In that case," Stiles drawled, slinging arms around mine and Allison's shoulders. "We'll make this a trio then. What'll we see next time, ladies?"

Allison smirked at me as I rolled my eyes.

* * *

><p>The second time I had sex with Stiles was in his Jeep. Let me tell you, car sex is not as easy as it looks in the movies. We'd just had another double date with Allison and Scott. He was dropping me off at home. Sitting in my driveway, I finally asked the question I'd been mulling over for days. I asked the boy with honey brow eyes if we were dating or if our relationship was all physical.<p>

"Either way, I'm fine," I mumbled, adding, "_I think_."

"See, I was under the impression that we were together," he bravely grinned.

"You know what they say about assuming…"

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you go out with me?" Stiles smiled sweetly, hints of a nervous hopefulness on his face. It was adorable and I felt my heart flutter pitifully. But, as always, his sarcastic-self had to cheapen the moment. "Please? We can be sandbox buddies. I'll even share my juice box with you. Maybe. Not if it's a Capri-Sun though. Those bitches rock."

"Stiles, shut up!" I squealed, leaning across the gear shaft to slap a hand over his mouth. It didn't take long for us to start kissing and then somehow he managed to pull me into his lap.

The glass windows didn't fog up like in _Titanic_ but at one moment my elbow did hit the steering wheel causing the horn to blow obnoxiously. Afraid it might have woken my parents we hurried along, promising never to have sex in the Jeep again.

"When did you become such a horn-dog?" Olivia snorted when I told her.

"That's the thing! I'm totally not," I cried earning us both a brutal glare from our French teacher who was prattling on in front of the white board. "I mean," I continued much quieter. "I slept with Christian once when we were dating but with Stiles…I don't know. I can't control myself. It's ludicrous."

"He must be really great in bed."

"He is. You wouldn't think that either."

Livy shook her head. "I look at him and think, 'Hmm, potential' but then all I can picture is him in front of a computer screen engaged in some stupid video game and suddenly he's not so doable anymore."

"I don't think he plays video games…" She shrugged, "He looks the type. Cute, but nerdy and never gets the girl. Or at least not 'til my bestie came along and started fucking his brains out."

"Don't ever call me that again," I rolled my eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>The lovely<strong> Dawnie-7** pointed out that there are only two chapters left of this story and that doesn't sit right with her. I'm thinking about adding some extra chapters, like a string of one-shots about Stiles and Sam: Valentine's Day, Stiles meeting Sam's parents, etc. What do you guys think about that? Lemme know! **

**As always, reviews are loveeee. **


	5. Chapter 5

**PART CINCO**

The following day at school I surged through the cranky morning crowd of teenagers to find Scott McCall waiting awkwardly beside my locker. I raised a delicate brow as I offered him a slight wave. "Hey."

"Hey," he said with a forced enthusiasm.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, fighting with my locker. He wormed between me and the metal contraption, "Here, let me help. Everything is fine; Stiles wanted me to let you know he can't take you to the park today. He's really sick. He would've texted you but he didn't want your phone to go off in class."

"Oh." Cue frown. "Is he alright?"

"Just some bug," Scott replied, stepping away from the now open locker. "He should be back tomor-" He grew suddenly silent. Cocking his head a degree to the left he froze, his eyes growing distance.

I glanced around. "Um, Scott…? Scott. Scott!"

"S-sorry," he stammered. "I have to go." Scott urgently dashed down the hall, rounding a corner, and disappeared. Curious eyes trailed after him. Shuffling my textbooks, I mumbled, "So weird" and went on to my next class.

I messaged Stiles when I got home to see how he was feeling. He called me an hour later, apologizing: he had fallen asleep some time after one. He also said he was sorry, in a very croaky voice, for bailing on our date. We talked for a minute before I demanded he get more rest and hung up. Stiles was absent from school the following day as well. I called him once again and when I found out that Sheriff Stilinsky was working a double shift all week I snapped at him. "Stiles! Why didn't you tell me? Who's been taking care of you?"

"Um," he scoffed weakly. "No one. I am a man, Sam. I tak-" He broke off, sneezing violently.

"You're such a man, Stiles," I sighed. Giving another witty remark, I informed him that I'd be over shortly.

Nearly an hour later I arrived at the Stilinsky household. A thermos of soup in hand, I let myself in per Stiles' instruction and marched up to his room. To say he looked pitiful would be a gross understatement. Lying in his bed, his navy comforter bunched around him, he was gazing blankly at the ceiling. The eyes I loved so much were half-lidded and his mouth jarred open. Upon hearing me enter, his head lulled to the side. Grimacing, he moaned, "Don't look at me."

"Don't be such a girl," I smiled at his pitifulness. Setting the soup on his nightstand, I perched on the edge of his bed, running my hand over his head. His short buzz cut tickled my fingertips. My hand came forward to rest on his forehead. "Stiles, you're burning up."

He grumbled some unintelligible response. I dug the Vics from my purse. "Sit up."

Lazily, he slid up on his pillow. I peeled his shirt off, discarding it on the dirty floor. Disease and sickness radiated off his pale body. A sympathy frown graced my lips as I dipped two fingers in the little blue tub and proceeded to smear the vapor rub on his chest. He flinched, telling me it was cold. I apologized and continued.

Once the inhalant was applied I forced him to eat the beef stew and went about disinfecting his room. Nibbling on a cracker Stiles gazed at me, "Do you always care for the sickly?"

Pausing, I straightened and blushed, "I have this…compulsion. I've been told I'm very motherly. I enjoy taking care of people…"

"Guess I shouldn't feel special then," he cracked a wry grin. I crossed his room, settling on the mattress beside him. I cupped his jaw. A decent growth of subtle had built up over the past two days. Stroking his cheek, I murmured, "Of course you're special, Stiles."

The aching boy lent into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut, spoon going limp in his grip. He was absolutely precious. I grazed my lips lightly over his. "I'm going to go and let you rest. Do you need anything?"

He nodded slowly, eyes cracking open. I asked what he needed. Brown honey eyes bore into mine. With more strength than I'd seen all day, he spoke, "You."

It didn't take much negotiating for Stiles to convince me to stay. I curled up beside him, coaxing his head into my lap. I soothed him to sleep, eventually drifting off myself. When Sheriff Stilinsky opened Stiles' bedroom door at ten o'three that's exactly how he found us. He gently shook me awake, careful not to disturb his sleeping son. I blushed up a serious storm, blubbering excuses as I scrambled off the bed.

"Don't worry," he instantly told me. The kind Sheriff thanked me for looking after Stiles and led me to the front door. "Now, are you sure you'll be safe driving home? It's awfully late."

"Yes, sir," I assured with a drowsy smiled. "Goodnight, Sheriff."

"Bye, sweetheart."

I drove home, a slight aching building in my throat.

* * *

><p>"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you," I whined when Stiles knocked softly on my door. He slipped inside, practically glowing with a newfound health. My eyes narrowed viciously, "Someone looks better."<p>

"I had a hot nurse."

Rolling my eyes, I buried my head in my pillow. Stiles was still yammering. The low pounding in my head was growing, my throat throbbing. I growled, telling this to Stiles. He sprawled out beside me and moved to massage my temples.

"I'm sorry I got you sick…"

I was silent for a moment, enjoying the way he moved the pads of his fingers in a circular rhythm against my aching skull. Finally, I begrudgingly mumbled, "I don't hate you."

"I know," he smiled softly, kissing my cheek. Stiles spend his Friday night looking after my moaning self. As a punishment for ruining my good health, I made Stiles watch 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' – a movie Scott once told me freaked the crap out of Stiles. Snuggled against him, I watched the movie with semi-closed eyes. He didn't help me stay awake by running his hands through my hair and rubbing my arms.

"Did you like it?" I yawned against his neck when the movie ended. Chuckling, he pulled the blanket tighter around me, "Yeah, totally…"

"_Stilesss_…"

He resumed toying with my hair, "What, Sammy?"

"I really like you. You're cute…and you make me laugh."

"I see someone's had too much Nyquil," he murmured, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. "I like you, too. More than I should. It actually kinda scares me."

"Mmm, that's nice," I heard myself say. "I'll be going to sleep now." I held fast to his waist and pressed my face to his sculpted chest. The scent of vanilla filled my runny nose. A dreamy smile spread my lips.

"Sam?" Stiles gently prodded.

"Stiles?"

"Sweet dreams, baby."

* * *

><p>The school year was coming to a rapid end. As it did, Stiles and I continued to grow closer. Soon we were inseparable. Occasionally Scott would steal him away for some secret boy-mission. Other times Olivia would demand that I remember that she was my best friend, not Stiles, and would kidnap me for a day or two.<p>

By the end of April Stiles has fallen in love with me. The first time he spoke the words we were in the midst of an argument that was slowly boiling up into a fight. Something was happening with him, Scott, and Jackson. There had been hints that Derek Hale, a suspect behind all the attacks in town, was involved. I wanted to know what was going on.

"I've always been flexible with the secrecy and weirdness surrounding everything you and Scott do but damn it, Stiles, what the hell? I don't see you for four days – not so much as a freaking phone call – and you expect me to be okay with that?"

"I can't tell you, Sammy," he pleaded, his hands reaching out to cup my face. I snatched away, "No! You aren't going to puppy-dog eye your way out of this one. Derek Hale is dangerous a-"

"How do you know about Derek?"

I snorted at his wide-eyed, panicked look. "You aren't as smooth as you think you are, sweetheart."

"Sam, I promise if I could tell you I would. Unfortunately, this isn't my secret to tell. If-"

"What does that mean?"

Stiles gave an annoyed sigh. "It means I now understand why Scott hates explaining things to me."

I arched an eyebrow at his quip. "Stiles, please…just tell me what's going on. Are you doing something illegal? How do you know Derek? Does Allison know-"

"Sammy! I love you and I wish that I could tell you, I swear, but I just can't. And I know you'll never accept that…look, give me a few days. Let me talk to Scott and sort all this out-"

"What did you say?"

"I'll talk to-"

"Stiles," I shook him, snapping his focus back into place. "Did you just say you love me?"

Instantly, he flushed, squaring his shoulders. He glanced around his bedroom nonchalantly. "Well…yeah."

"You love me?" I repeated.

"Yes…?" I stared at him, my face frozen. Eventually, he shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Please don't get creeped out. See, this is why I didn't tell you. Dad said I should but oh, no. I knew better and now look-" he continued to ramble while I attempted to wrap my head around the fact that Stiles loved me. This beautiful, insane, wonderful, nerdy little boy was in love with me. Me. _Me._ When I finally came crashing back to reality my boyfriend was pacing in front of his desk, hands flying as he gesture wildly, still speaking frantically.

"Stiles, Stiles!"

He faltered a step, tripping, and turned. I took him in my arms, tucking my head under his chin. Two strong arms circled me. His chest rose and fell. The rhythm was soothing. I snuggled my cheek against the cotton fabric of his long sleeve shirt. Taking a deep breath, I whispered, "I love you, too, you know."

"Really?"

"Hmm."

"You better," he murmured, sweeping his lips across my cheek. His lips pulled into a grin and when he pressed his mouth to mine I couldn't help but grin as well. Lips grazed, tongues caressed, and I knew I'd never feel so complete ever again.

Protesting his love for me over and over, he kissed me long and hard as he gently prodded me back towards his bed ready to prove just how much he loved me yet again.

**This is the final chapter of the story. Fortunately for you guys I've decided to carry on the story via witty, random one-shots. Stay tuned! Let me know what you think, please! **


	6. Chapter 6

**So how long has it been since I updated this story? About that…listen…**

**I'm graduating from school, just moved, and Teen Wolf has been off the air FOR EVER so there goes my inspiration. But there's really no excuse, right? Thankfully, I've been watching promos and trailers for the new season and my muse slapped me in the face. **

**Thank you for your patience!**

**Anyway, this chapter is kinda long for me – no I'm not trying to bribe you, but if I am, is it working? There is tons of fluff and cutesiness with Stiles and Sam, so be prepared. I hope you guys enjoy it! **

* * *

><p><strong>PART SEIS<strong>

A week before my birthday Allison approached me in the parking lot before school. A tad surprised to see her so early – she was one of the perpetually late types – I smiled and gave a small nod, "Hey. What's up?"

"Scott thought you should have a warning," she cryptically muttered.

"A warning?" My brow furrowed at her chilling words. What the hell?

"About this weekend." When met with my silence, Allison pursed her lips and groaned, "Your birthday, Sam."

"Oh, right," I relax. My birthday. That's what she meant. "What about it?"

I slammed the door to my car and hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder. As we approached the front steps of our school the brunette explained, "Apparently Stiles has something massive planned. I've been told he's looking at everything short of fireworks. Scott didn't want you taken by surprise so he asked me to give you a heads up. He would've said something himself but he mentioned some 'guy code'…I don't know. Boys are stupid."

I stumbled awkwardly into the main building of Beacon Hills High, her words temporarily paralyzing me. An image of Stiles in a suit holding a bouquet of red roses while kneeling beneath a giant banner that read "Happy Birthday, Sammy!" popped up into my mind. Allison's hand shot out to steady me. "Are you okay?"

Wincing, I nodded, "Let's hope so." I thanked her for the heads up. Allison sent me a sympathetic smile and wished me good luck.

After journeying to my locker to switch out my books I dashed off in search of my boyfriend. He was chatting quietly in front of his own locker with one of his teammates from the lacrosse team. His shoulders were tense and though I couldn't see his face I could tell he was less than pleased. I slid between the two boys. "Stilinsky, we need to talk."

"Damn, Jackson, looks like I'll have to catch you later," Stiles practically growled, his eyes glaring holes into the taller boy. My eyes widened; that was Jackson Whittemore? I peered curiously as he reluctantly retreated. Had Jackson always been so tall? And ripped? And…was he twitching?

The further away Jackson got the more Stiles seemed to calm. Eventually the harden lines of distaste on his boyish face smoothed and his shoulders slouched. He pecked my lips swiftly, "Thank you. God, I can't stand that guy. He's such a tool."

"Glad I could be of service," I murmured, propping against the row of metal lockers. I watching in silence as Stiles fought with his locker and struggled with the mountain of books inside. Marveling in his graceless, uncoordinated movements, I chewed on my lip. Stiles caught my gaze and stilled, his mouth hanging open dorkily, "What?"

I smirked, "Nothing. Listen, I'm going out of town on the twelfth."

He appeared confused. "Congratulations…? I'll miss you?"

My eyes rolled. "I'm going out of town on the twelfth…and I won't return until the sixteenth. I'll be spending my birthday in Vermont at the Hillcrest Hotel."

Instantly, his face fell. "What? Why?"

"My cousin's wedding, remember? I told you about it two weeks ago."

"Ah, shit," he hissed, forfeiting the struggle with his locker and slamming the troublesome contraption shut. "I completely forgot."

"I'm sorry," I frowned. He looked genuinely downtrodden. I wonder what he had planned. "Maybe we can do your little whatever after I get back."

"My little wh-wait, how do you-?" Stiles growled, "Scott." He steeled his jaw. "I'm gonna kill him."

"You do that," I encouraged. Laying a quick kiss on his cheek, I hugged my books closer to my chest, "I'm going to get to class now. See ya at lunch."

"Bye," he said with a pout.

As it turns out, I should've stayed in town with Stiles instead of going to my cousin's stupid wedding. It was super overhyped. DJ Douche Bag played nothing but dubstep during the reception and took no requests. Not to mention the fact that my Uncle Berry got into a fight with his third wife in the middle of the ceremony and my grandmother got so drunk she vomited during the bride and groom's first dance. But I digress. The Friday after I returned Stiles informed me of his master birthday plan. "Tell your parents you're staying at Olivia's Saturday night, okay? And wear something nice." His eyes immediately grew wide. "Not that you don't always look nice. I-I mean, beautiful. You're a goddess-"

"Shut up, you silly boy," I grinned, my eyes rolling playfully. "So we'll be out all night?"

A dorky smile split the handsome boy's face. He pulled me into his arms and pinned me against the side of his Jeep. "Well, you know, what I've got planned will take…quite a long time."

My heart constricted in my chest at the way his eyes suggestively roamed over my body. I gave a light blush and wrapped my arms around his neck. Our lips met. I melted into his arms. Stiles wasn't a body builder or some steroid user with an Arnold Schwarzenegger physique where his entire being was rippled and bulging. No, he was more of a thick, solid mass of muscle – strong and comforting. As we kissed I allowed my hands to run down his chest, resting on his sculpted abs.

"Get a room!"

We broke apart almost instantly to see Olivia standing amid the hoard of students littering the parking lot. Her lips were pressed, her brow furrowed. I grimaced. "Sorry!" I shouted to her before facing Stiles. "I gotta go," I murmured against Stilinsky's mouth as he sweetly kissed me goodbye.

"Be careful," he advised tenderly. Since the increase of animal attacks in the area Stiles had been keeping an extra close eye on me. Whenever we went out he insisted on walking me to my door. If I wasn't with him he was always texting me to double check that I was okay, and half the time he offered to drive me anywhere I needed to go – he wanted to see for himself that I got everywhere safely. My stomach churned pleasantly at the intense protectiveness burning in Stiles' gaze. I squeezed his hand and kissed him one last time. "Will do. You watch yourself, too, okay?"

"Yes ma'am," he gave a lazy grin. "I'll see you tomorrow. Pick you up at three."

Wordlessly, I nodded and retreated to Olivia's side. My best friend glowered at me. I shrugged, "Sorry. You and Damien were the same way when you two started dating."

Livy's nose wrinkled. "No, we weren't."

"Whatever. You were, too."

"Yeah, well that's different."

"How?" I snorted as we climbed into her car and drove back to her house. We grabbed a snack with Olivia's mom who was home early from her shift as the top chef at Houlihans, an upscale restaurant downtown. Around five o'clock Damien and Taylor arrive and we headed off to the local Fun Center. We played arcade games and putt-putt until the sky blackened and the stars shone brightly above. As usual Taylor and Livy tied for first, I followed closely for second, and Damien failed miserably behind.

"The fuck ever," Damien growled chunking his green plastic gold putter on the return counter. "This is some bullshit. You guys rig this crap every time."

"Don't be such a bitch," snickered Taylor as Olivia slid up to her irate boyfriend and coaxed him into calming down. She ran her hand up and down his bicep, cooing condescendingly, "It's okay, baby, you're still number on in my book."

Damien instantly shrugged her off with a glare. Taylor and I burst into loud, obnoxious chortles, jogging ahead of the lovebirds to the snack bar. We settled at the bar, ordering two sides of nachos (one with jalapenos, one without), a large Coke, and a chili dog. We split the chili dog and drink as Livy and Damien traipse off on the pretense of playing Skee Ball. Taylor watched our friends make their way to the arcade. "Ten bucks says we'll catch them making out in the kiddies' ball pit."

"Twenty bucks says we'll find them half-naked on top of the air hockey table," I corrected. Taylor grinned, "Deal."

As I scarfed down my cheese smothered nachos my gay guy cleared his throat, "So speaking of puke-worthy couples I hear things are getting serious with you and the sheriff's kid. How's that going?"

"Things with Stiles are good. Why?"

"I just hear you're getting close is all." There was strange edge to Taylor's voice.

Scooping a bit of chili off the hotdog, I popped it into my mouth, automatically growing defensive. "Is that a problem?"

"No, I just…this isn't like you, Sam. You don't date. You think relationships are pointless. I'm trying to figure out why you'd change that for him."

"I never said relationships were pointless. Though some are, I guess. Like all these idiots who date people just to be with someone or for shallow shit like money or looks. That is pointless. But I happen to really like Stiles. We've been friends for a while and you know I've always liked him."

"Oh, that bullshit elementary school crush doesn't count," argued Taylor. "Let me ask this and I'll leave you alone, okay? Are you with him for the sex? I mean, supposedly you got over this guy in junior high but then you sleep with him and fall head over heels? I'm not judging you. Like I said, I've seen the guy changing a time or two in gym. Not really my type but not bad…I just don't want you to use each other like that."

Um, did he really just say that? Punching Taylor as hard as I could in the shoulder, I snapped, "You're such an asshole!"

"Dude, I have a bruise there from paintball! That fucking hurt, Sammy!"

"That's what you get for being an asshole!"

"How am I an asshole?"

"Are you shitting me, right now? You just called me a whore."

"Don't be so dramatic. I'm only looking out for you."

"Thanks, mom, I think I've got it. And so we're clear, it's not about sex with Stiles. He's a great fucking guy. He ridiculously kind, makes me laugh, and just so happens to not be an asshole! Like you. So back off."

"Damn, okay. I get it. No more relationship bashing. Check. Sorry, I guess I'm lonely now that I'm alone in the Single to Mingle club."

"Please, Single to Mingle my ass. The only reason you're single is because finding a gay guy in Beacon Hills is impossible. Sarah Palin has a higher chance of being elected President than you do of finding a 'life partner,'" I snickered at the politically correct term.

Taylor's cheeks pinkened. "Actually…"

"What?"

"You know Danny, right? He's on the lacrosse team with your man? Well, he plays for the home team if you catch my drift."

"No way. No way. He's so heterosexual, th-"

"So am I! Just because you're gay doesn't mean you dress like Ru Paul and act like Elton John. Those idiots are flaming for attention. I'm gay but I'm not a faggot."

I winced, "Don't say that word."

"It's the truth. And if anyone can get away with saying faggot, it's a gay guy."

"Why doesn't Danny tell people he's gay? He trapped in the closet?"

Taylor stared at his nachos. "More like locked in. People can be closed-minded, you know? We aren't in Jackson, Mississippi or anything but notice how I don't exactly have a lot of guy friends? It's much you, Livy, and Damien. And getting Damien used to me was like pulling teeth. You remember how awful that was."

My lips dipped into a frown. Those had been tense times. "How'd you find out about Danny? Did he come out cause he knew you swung that way, too?"

"Kinda," he muttered. "Oh, look at the time. This place closes in twenty minutes. We need to find the lovebirds. C'mon."

"Wait, Taylor, how do you know about Danny?" But he was already gone. "Taylor!"

* * *

><p>Stiles arrived at my house at precisely three o'clock sharp the following day. When I answered the door he was standing with a bashful grin holding a bundle of spring flowers in vibrant colors – lilies, freesias, tulips, and a few a couldn't name. He wore a pair of black slacks with a navy button down, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows. A black tie hung loosely around his neck. I bit my lip trying not to grin like an idiot. He looked so cute.<p>

"H-hey," he flushed. "You look…wow. I mean, like…wow. Um."

"Thanks," I smiled taking the flowers. I brought them to my nose. The scents of each individual flower blended and though I couldn't pick a distinct smell, they were lovely. "They're beautiful, Stiles. Thank you."

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady," he half-laughed, half-stammered as he stepped forward. I slid into his open arms careful not to wrinkle his shirt as I hugged him fiercely. He pressed a kiss against my temple and murmured, "Seriously, though, you look amazing, Sam."

"Back at'cha, babe. So, can I get any hints as to where we're going?"

"Nope," he declined. He noted the bag in my hand. "Did you cover for tonight?" I nodded. "And you brought pajamas?" I nodded. "And a pair of comfortable shoes?" Another nod. "And a bathing suit?"

Wait, what? "Bathing suit. You didn-"

Stiles grinned. "Teasing." He took my bag and captured my hand, lacing our fingers. He lifted my hand to his lips delicately kissing the top of my knuckles. "Shall we?"

"Of course, sir," I agreed. I called into the house that I was leaving and shut the door. Then, we were off. We drove downtown and as we navigated the maze of one-way streets and parking garages, Stiles shifted in his seat, looking all too pleased with himself. "Are you ready for a hint?"

My ears perked. "You mean you're actually going to tell me what we're doing? You never give away the surprise. Alright, who are you and what have you done with Stilinsky?"

"You caught me. I'm actually an alien here to study human mating rituals. My first subject of study was Brad Pitt. But he and Angelina are always in different parts of the world so that didn't really go over well. Obviously, this handsome guy was my next best option."

I smirked, "Wasn't that the plot of _Death Raiders Three_?"

His cocky grin faltered. "Maybe. Anyway, do you want a hint or not?"

"Yes, please." I calmed.

"Food. Fancy food. I know it's totally cliché but every beautiful girl deserves a nice meal every once in a while," he spoke as we pulled into the small valet parking lot of Houlihans, a very elite, well-known restaurant. "Besides, this is only Phase One."

"Oh God, there are phases?"

Stiles beamed. "Just wait."

We were seated the moment we walked in the door. I was highly impressed; no one had ever made a reservation for me before. Stiles tried to be humble pointing out that he'd had over three weeks to plan. Still, it was an awesome gesture. As we mused over our menus, he'd asked if I'd ever been there before.

"No, but I know the chef," I admitted. His brow furrowed. "It's Livy's mom."

Instantly, his face fell. "Not cool. You must eat her stuff all the time. Shit. I'm sorry. I had no idea. Okay, well, we can always go-"

"Woah, Stiles, so not a big deal. Mrs. H rarely cooks at home and when she does it's usually just to test out some new, weird-ass recipe – that usually doesn't go well. Plus, Bistecca Ala Griglia isn't really something you serve to your suburban family of five. This restaurant was a perfect idea. Thank you. Really."

Life returning to his cheeks he hesitated. "Are you positive?"

I frowned, leaning across the table to whisper. "Who told you I had HIV?"

"That's not even funny."

Dinner was delicious, as expected. We'd sampled several appetizers because neither of us could narrow down our choices and shared steak sautéed in red wine. Honestly, it was the most delectable thing I'd ever tasted. On a buzz from the wonderful meal we climbed back into Stiles' Jeep and headed off for Phase Two.

We drove for nearly two hours North East. While we drove Stiles kept an easy, one-handed grip on the steering wheel and held my hand on the seat rest. The witty boy had prepared a mixed CD full of cheesy love songs like _The Way You Look Tonight_ by Tony Bennett and _At Last_ by Etta James to set the mood. This smooth choice was so corny that it made my night. "Stiles, if we do nothing else tonight but listen to this music I'll be happy. Can I have this? It's perfect."

Stiles gave a surprised grin, obviously pleased with himself, and assured me that the CD was mine. This time I received no hints. Eventually, Stiles informed me we were almost there and produced a "blindfold" from the dashboard. In actuality it was a hot pink sleep mask that read "sassy" on one side, "sweet" on the other. Upon sight of it, I burst into raunchy laughter. "This is fantastic, Stiles. Tell me, are you sassy or sweet today?"

He gave me a droll stare. "Hardy har. It's Allison's. She let me borrow it. Just put it on, please."

A few dirty jokes about Allison's sleepwear later, I settled into blindness. Hindered by my loss of sight, I instinctively gripped my boyfriend's hand tighter. Moments later we parked. Stiles ordered me to sit still, climbing from the vehicle and jogging quickly around to my side. He pulled me into his and led me forward. We traveled over shaky earth, what felt like rock and uneven ground. We were obviously in some sort of yard. Perhaps a field. A picnic, maybe? But we just ate. Suddenly, Stiles was talking but not to me.

"Hey, is she ready?"

"Yes, sir, all ready," a gruff, manly voice replied. I repeated the man's words, and then asked, "What's ready?"

"You'll see." We walked several more yards and Stiles instructed me to step up. I did so quite gracefully for a blind girl. I managed to only stumble a little bit with the help of some wicker railing that Stiles' guided my hand towards. The material felt like the laundry basket my mother used at home.

"Okay, this is either going to be really awesome or really bad. You're not afraid of heights are you?" mumbled Stiles.

"No," I answered curiously. "What…what are we doing, Stiles? Are we - holy shit - are we moving?"

I could hear Stiles grunting in affirmation as he struggled with something; judging by the clinks, it sounded like something metal, or aluminum. I gripped the railing tighter. Air whipped around me and I gasped. "Are we – oh my God – are we _flying?"_

I felt a pair of hands on my waist. "Take off the blindfold."

With shaking hands I ripped off the hot pink mask and nearly wet myself. "Holy mother of God…" I whispered. We were soaring a hundred feet above the world and steadily climbing. Luscious hills and rolling landscapes surrounded us. So this is why we drove two hours out. I craned my head back. The hot air balloon had a diamond pattern of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. The giant bubble was huge and one look at the open flame keeping us afloat made me nervous.

"Say something."

"Please tell me you know how to fly this thing?"

"Yes, I took a class…relax. You're safe."

I gazed around at the beautiful scenery. It was truly…remarkable. We were in a friggin' hot air balloon! "I've never done this before," I confessed, smiling up at my wonderful companion. "This is crazy and incredible, Stiles…"

He grinned and kissed me. "Happy birthday, babe."

After the hot air balloon ride we went to a nearby Marriot. The sun had already set and Stiles didn't want to drive for so long in the dark. We went straight to the room – another reservation. I had to admit I was impressed. Stiles was more of an in-the-moment kind of guy. All of this planning must have taken some time. The beautiful boy ushered me into our room only for me to find yet another surprise. Tea light candles littered the entire room, casting a brilliant glow. There were pink and white rose petals on the floor and a vase of fresh red roses sat on the night stand. Beside the TV sat a stack of about ten movies; all were romantic dramas like_ Titanic _and_ P.S. I Love You_, most of which I'd seen.

"Is it too much?" asked Stiles. There was a definite insecurity in his voice. "It's too much, right? T-the candles and the flowers. I knew it. I'm sorry. Pleas-"

"You are forever rambling and jumping to conclusion, Stilinsky. You know that?" I grinned, spinning around to loop my arms around his neck. I pecked his lips teasingly. "This is perfect. You are quite possibly the most amazing boy I've ever met. Thank you so much for all of this…"

A slow, happy smile found its way onto Stiles' face. He reached up and tucked back my hair, placing his lips no mine. "I love you."

"Ditto. But, just curious, how'd you set all this up? I've been with you all afternoon. Don't tell me those candles have been burning all day."

He shrugged, "Okay, I won't tell you…Scott and Allison don't have lives. They helped decorate."

"You've got some pretty great friends," I declared, brushing my lips against his. Stiles hugged me to his rock solid body. We kissed and kissed, Stiles twirling me a time or two. In a dizzy tizzy, we fell onto the bed in a mess of silly giggles. Lying in his arms I lost myself in Stiles' deep, warm gaze. How had this happened? How had I gotten so lucky? I cupped his cheek. Light stubble tickled my fingertips. "You are some kind of wonderful."

"I know," he whispered, lowering his mouth to mine once again. He tenderly nipped my bottom lip. I shivered as he teased my mouth, my hands trailed up to his shoulders. He rolled on top of my and pulled away. Hovering, he caressed my face. "The fun's not over."

Assuming he meant sex, I couldn't help but hear Taylor in my ears. _Are you with him for the sex? _

Yet, to my ever amazement, Stiles detached himself and straightened his tie. He reached over and snagged the stack of DVDs. "We have our movie marathon, of course. Ladies choice."

And just like that all traces of Taylor's negativity were gone. Duh, it was more than sex. This was Stiles! Tonight proved it. A ridiculously expensive (but delicious) dinner, a hot air balloon ride, and now this – no guy goes to such lengths just to sleep with a girl. Especially when the girl is willing.

"Hmm, _the Notebook _or_ Dirty Dancing_?"

Stiles mused thoughtfully. "Patrick Swayze is totally boss but I vote Notebook. Nothing says, romantic evening like a little Nicholas Sparks action."

We settled on the bed amidst the fluffy pillows and thick, hotel comforter. Curling into one another, we watched one of the world's most romantic movies ever. This is going to sound totally cheesy but I'd never felt so content. Ever. Except for maybe that time Stiles' got me sick and took care of me. Or maybe our first date at the Gala when we saw _Jaws_ and ate under the stars. Either way, I always seem my happiest when I was Stiles and this fact was beginning to stick.

After the movie finished we popped in another and then another, eventually growing hungry halfway through _Serendipity_. Stiles produced a thin black and white menu – room service. We ordered chocolate covered strawberries and caramel cheesecake. We dined once more and fell asleep during the opening credits of the fourth movie. We slept until well after noon – Stiles later revealed that we'd slept through check-out and he'd been forced to pay a sixty-five dollar fine. Stupid. When we woke we just sort of laid there looking at one another and smiling like idiots. Sunlight flooded in between the slights in the blinds and outside a steady stream of traffic was heard.

I tugged at Stiles' tie. We'd never changed into our pjs. "Hey, you."

"Morning," he softly replied. His voice was thick with sleep. He blinked rapidly attempting to wake himself up. It took a few minutes but eventually he shook off the stupor and reached out to twist a lock of my hair. "How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully. Better than I have in a while, actually." There was a burning happiness in my stomach as I reflected on last night and its perfectness.

We didn't kiss, or even speak. We just laid there holding one another in a cocoon of warmth and peace and comfort. For a second I thought we might fall back asleep but a ringing phone jolted us back to reality. Stiles let it go to voicemail, not even bothering to look at who was calling. I poked his chest. "You know you don't have to ignore it."

"Yes I do. This is your birthday time."

"I think it's safe to say we can let my birthday pass."

"Nah, uh-" Again, the phone rang. With a sigh, Stiles reluctantly rolled over and retrieved the small device. "What do you want, McCall? Yeah, while I don't call when you and Allison are-wait, what?" Stiles face fell, his skin growing ghostly pale. He looked at me with fearful, wide eyes. "Baby, where's your phone?"

"In my bag…"

"Can you get it, please?"

I snatched my bag off the floor and dug throw the few belongings. "Uh, here." I handed it to Stiles. He flipped it open and spoke into his phone, "The ringer was off. There are three missed calls. Shit."

My stomach began to twist. "Stiles, what's going on?"

My boyfriend looked at me with regretful eyes. "Sam, your parents…"

"What about them?" I quickly bit.

"They," Stiles grimaced. "They know you weren't at Olivia's last night. They know you were with me."

Aw, shit.

* * *

><p><strong>There you have it, folks, another epic installment of Friends with Benefits, Stiles Style. I hope you liked it! Let me know if I'm still staying true to Stiles' behavior and personality and all that jazz, por favor. <strong>

**As always, review! **


	7. Chapter 7

**This is by far one of my favorite chapters. It was very fun to write. I love playing with the dynamics of Stiles and Sam is a total wild card. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.**

**A huge, major, jumbo thank you to the following: **CuteSango07, Becky, Kira Tsumi, DerryBean, katiekat54,** and** Dawnie-7**! Thanks guys for not only sticking with this story, but also for sharing your lovely thoughts in reviews. I love you guys like Stiles loves Batman. I also friggin love Batman. Go see **The Dark Knight Rises** on July 20th! **

**PART SIETE**

"I shouldn't be doing this," I said as the man with jet black hair and olive skin attack my neck with his lips. A shiver ran through me at the unsurpassed skill he possessed. Stiles was a good kisser, but damn this guy was phenomenal. Stiles…_Stiles._ Shit. "Seriously, I can't do this. I have a boyfriend."

The man pulled away with a haughty grin that somehow made him charming. "Does your boyfriend look like me, love?"

My knees buckled at his devilish European accent. I numbly shook my head no.

"And does he kiss like me, love?"

If he keeps calling me 'love' I might pass out. Once more my head shook.

"Then what makes you think he makes love like me?" The gorgeous man's grin grew and suddenly he was yanking me toward him. I collided with the most chiseled, perfect chest I'd ever seen. A loud squeak escaped me. "Where did your shirt go?"

"For this, love, clothes only get in the way."

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed. I forced myself away from him, gasping for air. I needed to think straight. To think about Stiles. "Shit! I can't-"

"Stop fighting it. You know you want me."

I looked up into his deep caramel eyes. So tempting. No! I mentally shook myself, shutting my eyes and taking a deep, slow breath. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I can't. I love Stiles."

His lips pulled into a frown for a mere second and then stretched once more into his famous crooked grin. "Well that's alright." Suddenly, he was dressed in a leather jacket with a tan hat perched atop his head, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He offered an arm. "Care to join me?"

"Where are you going?"

"I feel like getting some coffee," he mused and all of sudden we were no longer in my bedroom but in the middle of a bustling cobblestone street. The sky above was a rich, cerulean and the sun was shining brilliantly, bathing the busy city streets below in warmth. Hadn't it just been midnight? My eyes flew curiously to Johnny. He expounded, "I felt like coffee _in Italy_."

Eyes growing wide, I laughed in great delight and surprise. "Italy?" I'd never been to Italy. His arm still looped around mine, Johnny took the lead and we strolled down the Italian road exploring the beautiful town and chatting with the locals. Well, I politely smiled. Johnny chatted. Who knew Johnny Depp spoke Italian?

We were just arriving at a coffee shoppe nestled quaintly away in an alley covered in flourishing vines and flowers when the ground began to shake. Clutching Johnny tighter, I glanced nervously around. The ground rumbled, a loud crack emitting around us. The cobblestone street split beneath our feet. "Do you think it's an earthquake?"

"No," Johnny gave a curt nod. "I'm sorry, love. It's time to say goodbye. You have to wake up now, darling. Samantha, it's been a pleasure." I watched as the Godlike man brought my hands to his lips and brushed a smooth kiss over the top of my knuckles. Swallowing hard, I mumbled, "B-bye, Johnny Depp."

"For you, love, it's just Johnny," he winked.

The rumbling grew violent. The Italian street collapsed in on itself and just as my panic began to skyrocket I snapped awake to someone shaking my bed. "Get up, Sam! Now!"

"Get off!" I growled, shoving my hand in my little cousin's face. I pushed her off the mattress and onto the floor. The alarm clock on my nightstand read 12:03. "What the hell? What's wrong with you?"

"There's some moron throwing rocks at your window," she snapped as she flopped back onto her make-shift pallet of old sleeping bags and throw pillows.

"What?" I muttered rolling out of bed - literally. I stumbled over to the window and peered down. Sure enough, there was a moron on my lawn with a handful of pebbles. Withholding a caustic remark, I wrenched open the window. Poking my head out into the cool night, I tried not to shout, "Stiles, what are doing? Are you not aware that it's after midnight?"

He checked his watch. "It's like, five after," he muttered but then he caught my expression and winced, "Sorry, were you asleep?"

There was zero holding back now; I opened my mouth and let the sarcasm fly. "No, Stiles, I was up practicing my Clog dancing routine like I do every Thursday at midnight. You came over just in time."

The boy rose a brow as if to say 'touché'. "Point taken. Should I come back later?"

"Did you need something, Stiles?"

"I wanted to take you for a drive."

"A drive? At midnight?" He nodded. "Where?"

"It's a surprise…"

I couldn't help but smile. "You and your surprises…"

"So will you come? Please?" Stiles shot me a hopeful, kicked-puppy look. I sighed. He was so adorable, as usual, standing on my lawn like a sappy, eighties movie. While he had crappy timing, I couldn't argue with his attempted romance. Plus, I was already awake. I held up my hand, "Five minutes."

Sneaking out of my house was easy enough after giving my little cousin a couple of death threats if she didn't cover for me. Stiles was leaning against the hood of his Jeep, arms crossed over his chest. I approached him and poked his chest. "You interrupted a very nice dream, mister."

"Did I now?" He gave a coy grin. "Want me to help you recreate it?"

"Sure," I snaked my arms around his neck, his looping around my waist. Our lips met tenderly. I whispered against his mouth, "Know how I can get in touch with Johnny Depp?"

"Oh, ho, hurt," he stammered, tearing away to walk around to the driver's side. I hopped in the Jeep and shot him a wink as I buckled my seat belt. "Sorry, babe. We fell asleep watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_."

He cut me a glance. "Excuses."

Stiles drove across town to his neighborhood. We drove passed his house to an empty cul-de-sac in the back of the massive community. I peered out the window at the maze of trees. "This is your surprise? You usually come through with these things but, I hate to say it, you're off your game tonight."

"You underestimate me." Stiles clasped a hand dramatically over his heart. "And it hurts."

Giggling, I asked, "Seriously, why are we in your neighborhood?"

"You'll see," he declared. We drove around the cul-de-sac and pulled into what appeared to be a drive way though I saw no mailbox or house. The paved concrete eventually trailed into a dirt road. When the road narrowed to the point of zero access, Stiles parked the Jeep and popped open his door. "Let's go."

We trampled through the woods hand in hand and when I asked just what we were doing Stiles groaned, "Always with the questions. Can't you just wait for the surprise?"

"I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," he grumbled.

"Good thing I'm a human."

"Smartass."

I snorted, "Look who's talking."

He led me down a worn path through a thicket of pine trees. The night surrounding us was silent save for the occasional hoot of an owl. A slight breeze hung in the air. It felt good on my skin. We ducked to avoid swooping branches and stepped over roots that protruded the packed earth. While we traveled we were quiet, sharing smiles and never letting go of one another's hand. Finally, the path widened and opened into a messy clearing full of fallen trees and overgrown grass.

"A clearing?" I teased. "What are you, Edward Cullen?"

There was a slight smirk on Stilinsky's mouth as he ignored my jest and tugged me along. We crossed the clearing and stepped through a cluster of trees when the vegetation began to thin and my breath caught in my throat.

"I think," Stiles whispered in my ear as he hugged me from behind. "-that I'm way more of a Noah Calhoun than an Edward Cullen."

The Notebook reference made my knees quake as we stepped forward, closer to the shimmering water. Before us laid a small lake that was more of a pond than anything else and sat completely cut-off from the world. The private waters looked virtually untouched by man, save for a small wooden dock on the North end that appeared to have survived several winters. On the surface of the water was a giant reflection of the moon that glinted beautifully in the night. A cluster of lily pads hung just off the shore line. Slowly, I approached the edge of the water, knelt, and ran my fingers over the tops of the lilies. Stiles settled beside me and tore off his shoes. I watched, a bemused grin on my face, as he stuck one foot in the water only to hiss and snatch it back. "Damn, that's cold."

I followed his lead, kicking off my shoes. It took nearly five minutes for my feet to adjust to the cool temperature of the water. When I finally let out the hitch in my breath, I slid my hand over to his and laced out fingers. "Thank you. I approve of your drive."

Stiles smiled genuinely, our shoulders bumping. "Good. You need to work on your trust skills."

Laughing, I swayed my feet in the cool water and leaned against the charming boy. I'd never really been the type of girl who cried while watching Titanic, or who squealed on the phone to her best friends after she got asked to prom, but there was something about Stiles that made me feel like a giddy little girl. Every little romantic gesture – holding my hand, opening doors for me, taking me on these little trips – all of these things made my stomach burn with an excited tension that I'd never really felt before. Maybe it was because I'd liked him since we were kids but…somehow I knew it was just him. He was so charming, so cute, and sweet, and loveable, and kind, and generous, and loyal and-

"What are you thinking about?" asked Stiles, his voice serene and gentle as his warm breath tickled my ear.

I bit my lip and rested my chin on his shoulder. "You."

"What about me?" There was no teasing quality in his tone and though his words were simple enough I felt like there was a deeper meaning to the question. I sat up so I could look him in the eye and rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. Suddenly, I felt a little nervous. I'd always been straight-forward with Stiles. That was our policy – no bullshit. (Well, except for when it came to crap with Scott but he was a loyal friend and claimed that was Scott's business to share, not his.) Despite our no bullshit clause when I went to speak I worried that I shouldn't tell him exactly what I was feeling, I shouldn't convey the intensity of my feelings, of my love for him. There were two things that scared away teenage guys in a relationship – commitment and pregnancy. I know Stiles isn't that kind of guy but the uncertainty was still there.

But fuck it. I wasn't a coward. "Stiles, I…I was thinking about how wonderful you are. You're a total dork and so clumsy that sometimes I worry for your safety. But you're also charming and suave in your own little way. You're intelligent and kind and are just so perfect sometimes that I don't think anyone will ever get me like you do or be more right for me than you. I know that's super unrealistic because we're just two kids in high school and we've been dating for less than four months but…I don't know. You're just…you're really great, Stiles."

He didn't say anything when I finished speaking. All was silent. I abruptly felt like a total dork and cleared my throat. "Um…so how about those Warriors…?"

Stiles was staring at me and he slowly blinked and looked away. Feeling a tad rejected, I began to pull away from him when he caught me and shook his head. "I'm just…processing. Hang on."

Processing? What the hell, was he a computer hard-drive that had been over loaded?

"Sorry, I just…um…" Stiles cleared his throat and shot me a nervous smile. "I don't have a lot of family, you know? It's just me and my dad. And, well, Scott. That's it. And it usually takes a lot for me to get close to someone. I mean, me and Scott have been best friends since we were like, five, or something. But I get it. What you were saying. A-and I feel the same way. Um, we're even."

A scoffed a laugh. "We're even?"

He just kind of dopily grinned. "Yeah," he muttered shrugging. "I love you, Sam."

"I know." My stomach was doing back-flips. I didn't think shit like that was possible. Squeezing his hand, I reached over and kissed the corner of his mouth before fixing my stare on the lake. I kicked at the surface of the water. "Ever go fishing out here?"

"I'm not really the fishing type," he awkwardly snorted. "Animal cruelty's not my thing. Save the wolves!"

"Think there's any fish or snakes in there?" I continued to swish my feet in the water, little ripples spreading across the lake. Stiles mumbled that he doubted anything lurked beneath the pond's murky surface. "Good," I nodded and stood. Peeling my shirt over my head, I tossed it into the grass a few feet behind us and began undoing the top button on my jeans.

"Oh…my God," Stiles gasped. He jumped to his feet, looking around for any rabbits of squirrels with wandering glances. "What are you doing?"

"Have you ever been skinny dipping?"

"N-no…have you?" he squeaked.

"No, but there's a first time for everything." I squealed as I cannon balled into the pond. Chills covered my body as I plunged into the water. Kicking for the surface, I spit a bit of water out and pushing a lily pad out of my face. "C'mon, Stiles! There is a naked girl asking you to take your clothes off and join her. Your answer is honestly no? Really?"

The bashful boy's face crumpled and scrunched in defeat. He stripped quickly, shooting me daggers the whole time. 'When my balls freeze and fall off-"

"I'll sew 'em back on for you. Jesus, don't be such a baby."

His face froze. "You didn't not just call me a baby."

"Afraid I did."

Suddenly, he jumped in the lake nearly landing on me. He too plunged downward and swam to the surface, running a hand over his face and eyes. "You're going to regret that," he threatened. We then proceeded to chase one another around the small pond and, after dunking each other a few times, wound up making out naked in the freezing waters. It was nearly five o'clock before we scrambled out of the pond and fetched our clothes. We dried as best we could and redressed, heading back to my house. As we pulled up to the curb I asked Stiles how he'd found the lake.

A flicker of sadness crossed his face like a shadow. He turned off the Jeep and chewed his cheek. "Um…when, uh, when I was younger my mom used to take me there. She used to play there when she was a little girl."

My shoulders instantly tensed. I knew the death of his mother was a sensitive subject. Something he never talked about; not even with Scott. All of a sudden, I felt very touched. "Thank you for sharing that with me. It was beautiful."

"You're welcome," he spoke softly. His jaw was clenched a bit and he stressed the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Hesitantly, I leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Night, Sammy. I'll see you Sunday. Have fun with your cousins."

I groaned. "Don't remind me. I cannot wait until they go home. They're evil."

Just as I was about to slip out of the Jeep, Stiles caught my chin and pressed a firm kiss on my lips. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you, too."

**Leave a review. Or Derek will find you. Or Grandpa Argent…who sincerely scares me. **


	8. Chapter 8

**So first off, how freaking awesome was the season finale?! Holy crap-ola! It was fantastic. Like, what the French toast? Right? Right? **

**Anyway, the writers just did a wonderful job with this season. At first I was a tad afraid that they were trying to do too much with the script. There were too many new faces, too many new questions. But overall they did a great job and I'm so impressed. I remember I hated Isaac in the first two episodes. I was like, "Who the hell is this kid? Why aren't we focusing more on Stiles this season?" Cause, you guys know I love me some Stiles. But Isaac has turned out to be my second favorite character on the entire show. They just did phenomenally with his evolution as a person, not just a werewolf. **

**Inspired by how amazing these last few episodes have been (seriously, they kicked ass people) I decided to steer my storyline temporarily back toward the show. Stiles and Sam have been in their own world as of late but I've been curious to see how Sam would handle his behavior this season. So let's check that out shall we? **

**As always, a shout out to you lovely people who keep this story afloat in the vast sea that is fanfiction. I appreciate and adore you all. Keep reading and reviewing and alerting and so forth! Or seriously, mutated Grandpa Argent is going to find you. (Any guesses as to where they're gonna go with that?)**

**PART OCHO:**

"I heard there was another animal attack last night," Taylor declared as we moved through the lunch line. Beside me I felt Stiles tense. Glancing back at him, I caught my boyfriend and his best friend sharing a knowing look.

"That's the third one this month," muttered Damien as he shoveled pizza onto his tray. "It was the guy who lived in that trailer on the preserve, right? I heard his wife saw the whole thing but won't say what kind of animal it was. She's pregnant, too. That's gotta suck. Seriously, someone outta put Kujo back in his kennel."

"What makes you so sure it was a dog?" Scott asked, a slightly defensive edge to his voice.

Damien shrugged, "I don't know…I was just assuming, based on all the claw marks and shit. Unless it's another fucking mountain lion but your girlfriend's dad killed all those, didn't he?"

Damien's reference to last semester's parent-teacher night got everyone quiet. We navigated the maze that was Beacon Hills High's cafeteria and settled at a table near the far windows where Lydia and Allison already sat waiting.

"He is right about one thing," muttered Taylor. "Whatever is out there killing, someone knows about it and they damn sure aren't stopping it."

My brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

Taylor propped his elbows up on the table, pushing away his food. For those who knew Taylor well this was a tell-tale sign he was being serious. "Look, obviously whatever the hell is causing these attacks isn't some domestic kitty cat gone postal. It's something wild – a cougar, a wolf, a bear…something! And animals like that don't just appear out of nowhere. Maybe they got loose at a zoo or something. But then, why wouldn't someone report that? I'm just sayin'…someone knows exactly what's going on and they're letting it happen."

"Sounds like that shark movie," chirped Lydia. All eyes trained on her. She shrugged, "What? It does. You know the one where those men keep their pet sharks in that lake and they eat all the college co-eds?"

Allison's eyes narrowed in disbelief at her air-headed friend. "Yeah well that movie sucked," she snapped. Lydia flinched a bit and parted her lips to retort but I spoke before she had the chance, "Speaking of movies, Allison, _The Lucky One_ is finally in theatres. Want to double again?"

"Yes!" she agreed with a grin just as Scott shouted, "No!"

Stiles huffed, elbowing his bestie. "And why not? What reason could you possibly have to _not_ want to go spend twenty bucks to sit in a stuffy theatre and watch some sappy, touchy-feely movie while a bunch of chatty douchebags talk the whole time?"

Scott scoffed and gave Stiles a droll stare. "You are the chatty douchebag."

Stiles shook his head in disappointment. "Be that way then. We'll still go, won't we girls?"

Everyone sort of laughed and lunch carried on like usual. Only, when Stiles took my hand under the table I couldn't help but feel a light shake in his familiar touch. I grazed my thumb over the back of his palm. Stiles peered at me. He said nothing but I knew something was wrong. Desperately wrong. And all those worried feelings I've had about him and Scott and Derek Hale and all their secretiveness bubbled up once more. Even worse, I sort of believed they knew all about these animal attacks and might even be involved. Not that I thought Stiles would ever hurt another person but…my gut was telling me that he was somehow invested.

But Stiles merely smiled and kissed my cheek.

What was going on? Why wouldn't he tell me?

Strange happenings in Beacon Hills, I just pray we make it out alright.

* * *

><p>Stiles was disappearing again. And more frequently than last time. His excuses were more ludicrous than ever and more often than not didn't make any sense whatsoever. Needless to say, my patience and understanding was wearing thin.<p>

It all started a week before that man was murdered on the preserve - the night Stiles and Scott went to that gay bar with Danny. Which was kind of the first clue that something wasn't right. Don't get me wrong, Stiles is a great friend. He is loyal and passionate and a fierce protector of those he loves. I could totally see him trying to take Danny to a gay bar to help get him over his breakup with that Anthony asshole. Except for the fact that Danny can barely tolerate Stiles. There is no way in hell Danny would've let Stiles or Scott take him anywhere. Ever.

Then all those guys at the bar got poisoned – some kind of bad ecstasy was the official report – which only cemented my belief that this wasn't right. Danny never did drugs; he didn't want to jeopardize his spot on the lacrosse team. So maybe they were given bad date rape drugs. But who in their right mind is going to drug over twelve guys at once? It just didn't fit. As usual, whenever I asked Stiles about it he mumbled and spat out some half-ass lie. I was starting to lose my mind.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Olivia asked as we stumbled down her driveway to my car. Digging around in my purse for the keys, I lamely nodded. We'd just spent the last two hours in her basement, Livy playing the part of a great friend as I wept like an idiot about all this bullshit with Stiles. My face was still wet with tears and I kinda couldn't breathe. My best friend sighed, "Well…if you change your mind and decide to come to the rave you still have your ticket, right?"

"Yeah, I've got it," I confirmed. "But seriously I'm just going to go home and wallow in self-pity. And eat ice cream. And watch Lifetime. Again. God, I'm such a loser."

My best friend gave a quiet laugh and pulled me into a hug. "Don't be all emo. I promise, Stiles is just…being Stiles. He's weird. You know this. It'll all clear up in a few days like last time. So stop worrying."

"I'd be less worried if people weren't dying left and right and I wasn't somehow convinced that my boyfriend is involved."

"If it makes you feel better, I walked in on Damien playing with himself Tuesday after school. It was brutal."

I winced at the God awful mental image of Damien masturbating. "Why in hell would that make me feel better? You know what. You're awesome. Really. Truly a fantastic friend. But I'm gonna go now."

"I love you," she muttered.

"Love you too, Livy."

I told Olivia I was going home but I didn't want my parents to see me crying. Honestly, I looked like a hot mess. So I drove around Beacon Hills for nearly two hours with no particular destination in mind. Somehow, I ended up in front of the Corner Cone Creamery – the twenty-four hour ice cream shoppe. This was where it all started, this whole rollercoaster that is Stiles. "One vanilla cone, please," I told the girl behind the counter.

Like on that first night, I sat alone on the bench and ate my ice cream. Only tonight I was kinda depressed so I decided to eat my feelings and ordered another cone. About halfway through the second ice cream I got pissed at myself and threw the cone away. "I'm not this girl. I don't fall apart," I told myself. "Shit like this is exactly why I don't date."

Adrenaline pumping, I jumped in my car and drove to the warehouse; because nothing quite says adrenaline like a rave. Well, that and sky diving. There were cars everywhere and since I was a few hours late trying to find parking was a bitch. I managed to find a space right across from a blue jeep. A very familiar blue jeep. "Ha," I scoffed. "Stilinksky Family Night, my ass."

So Stiles was here and this was the second time in the past week I'd caught him in a lie. Fuming, I stormed into the ginormous building. I flashed my ticket and was allowed in. The music was so overwhelmingly loud. The DJ was playing dubstep shit and clearly whoever decorated got a little out of hand with the strobe lights. I lost myself among the pulsing crowd. There were so many people, so many sweaty bodies. I tried to keep an eye out for Stiles. Or Scott, who I assumed would be with him. Or Allison, who I assumed would be with Scott. Only, I found Jackson.

"Jackson?!" I shouted above the roaring music. His eyes seemed glazed over as they stared past my head. Great, the only person I know and he's high. I dove through the bodies and wrapped my fingers around Jackson's forearm. "Jackson!"

"Not now," he growled, his voice shaking. My eyebrows dipped, "Are you okay? Have you seen Stiles?"

Jackson seized my upper arms and yanked me toward him. I stumbled, crashing into his chest. He lifted me so that my feet were not touching the ground, my arms already bruising. "Shit, Jackson, you're hurting me," I grunted with pain. He merely snarled and spat, "Not now," before flinging me off of him. I fell back into the mass of fist pumping Jersey Shore wannabes and waited for my painful collide with the cement floor. Only, it never came.

"Careful," a semi-mocking voice spoke as its owner caught me by the waist. He helped me stand and I turned to thank him, "Isaac?"

Isaac Lahey grinned down at me. "Hello, Samantha."

Isaac and I had been good friends as children but when his brother died in Iraq his father tightened up a lot and Isaac sort of withdrew into himself. We'd still seen each other around school occasionally but the last time I'd seen him was at lacrosse practice when he was arrested for the alleged murder of his father. The charges were dropped but he'd sort of disappeared off the grid after that.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Working," he murmured as a busty blonde girl stepped out of his shadow and waltzed over to Jackson. She wound her arms around his neck and began grinding against him. Isaac watched them, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. I grimaced, "Never took you for the voyeuristic type, Isaac."

He glanced at me, worry flickering in his eyes. "You shouldn't be here. You should go." He slid passed me, approaching the dancing duo but I snatched him back. He sighed, sliding easily out of my grip, "Please, just leave. It's not safe here."

"What's happening?"

"I can't tell you."

I snorted. "Seems I'm hearing that a lot lately. You're working with Stiles, aren't you? And Derek and Scott?"

Isaac lowered his head shamefully. He peered back at Jackson and the girl. "We're trying to help save people, Samantha. I know you can't understand-"

"I can't understand," I snapped, stepping closer. "Because no one will tell me anything!" I stared up into his wide gaze. "Isaac, please, please tell me."

"I'm sorry, I can't," he tore away. Suddenly, his gaze hardened and a snarl bubbled in his throat. "I have to go. Leave_. Now."_

"I'm not a child, Isaac." My eyes narrowed. "But I know when I'm not wanted."

Stung with rejection and alienation, I moved further into the crowd toward the DJ booth. I tried to lose myself in the rave. I tried to get caught up in the music and the atmosphere and let it take me. But I couldn't. There was an aching in my chest so deeply profound that it took all of my strength not to pass out. Every ounce of me rattled with confusion and hurt and betrayal. I was so sick of being lied to, of being kept in the dark. I moved through the crowd blindly, getting jostled amongst the bodies. Managing to get elbowed in the eye almost three times, I burst out of the warehouse doors and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sam?"

I spun. Allison was leaning against the warehouse, tears in her eyes and a phone clutched tightly in her hand. I went to her side immediately. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I just, um. You know my parents don't want me to see Scott so I thought if I came to the rave with Matt it would get them off my case but…it just made things worse. So much worse," she cried. Faking a smile through her tears, she shrugged, "But it's not so bad. Scott just hates me and Matt tried to kiss me and I'm totally falling apart."

I winced, "Matt tried to kiss you? What did you do?"

"Stopped him but now I feel like a jerk. I led him on, I guess."

"Oh, whatever, everyone knows you and Scott are all kinds of in love. Matt had to have known that," I murmured. I looped an arm around her shoulders and attempted to comfort her, muttering softly. My words seemed to soothe her and a few minutes later she was calm and her eyes dry. She sniffled, wiping at her make-up, "What are you doing out here alone Where's Livy?"

"I came alone. I was actually looking for Stiles. His Jeep is in the parking lot. Have you seen him?"

Allison shook her head, frowning, "No."

I lamely nodded, "Alright. I'm gonna head home and crash then. Do you want a ride home?"

She glanced back at the warehouse. She seemed to struggle with herself for a second. I added that I didn't mind giving her a ride but she declined the offer anyway. "Thanks though. I came with Matt and after that horribly awkward not-kiss, I at least owe him the decency of finishing the date."

"Okay, well call me if you need anything?"

Allison smiled, "You, too."

Stiles showed up at my house around three that morning. I slowly made my way downstairs and snuck out my front door. After the rave I'd made up my mind. I was done with this. No more secrets and lies. No more running around going insane. No more crying! I hate crying. Like, hate it. Sincerely.

He was parked on the curb leaning against the hood of his Jeep. There was a morose frown on his adorable face; he looked miserable. His arms were crossed but as I approached they fell to his side. I suppose he expected me to walk into them, to hug him like I normally would. "Hey," I mumbled as I stopped at my mail box. His eye brows furrowed but he merely muttered, "Hi."

"What are you doing here? It's three in the morning."

He shrugged. "I just…needed someone to talk to. My dad he…"

My heart leapt. "He what? Is he okay?"

"No. I mean, yeah…but no. He lost his job." Those four words fell off Stiles' lips like a ton of bricks. His shoulders slumped and his jaw clenched, emotions rolling off of him in waves. He gazed at me with those sad, honey eyes and I felt myself melt. Poor Stiles. He was going just as mad as I was. I moved to his side, "I'm so sorry. Why? You're dad's the best sheriff Beacon Hills has had since…like, the eighteen hundreds."

Stiles made a suffocated noise that sort of sounded like a laugh and a hiccup and a cry all at once. "I know right! That's the whole point! He's great at his job! He always puts his job first. Sam, do you know how many nights he stays up 'til three or four o'clock in the morning pouring over cases? How many sleepless nights he's suffered? How hard he works? Even before the murders started, he busted his ass up there and I screwed it all up!"

"I don't understand…"

Stiles' lips quivered. "He lost his job because I'm a fuck up. Because I fucked up. Because I always fuck up. Everything!"

"Baby, you aren't making any sense." I cupped Stiles' face and stroked his cheeks with my thumbs. He was on the verge of having a panic attack. "Breathe, okay?"

Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back, tilting his head toward the sky. A few shaky breaths passed through his lips before he swallowed thickly and grumbled, "I'm alright." He pulled me against him and I couldn't help but weave my arms around his waist. He smelled good. Like always. And he was so warm. I pressed my face against his chest. "You are not a fuck up."

The words were stifled by his shirt but I guess he heard because a small chuckle bubbled up his throat and his grip on me tightened. "Thank you, Sammy." He fell silent and I took the moment to memorize the feel of his body pressed against mine. It felt so right. There was something homey about the familiar embrace. It was almost enough to make me forget everything, forget my burning questions, forget my suspicion and fear. I wished desperately it could last forever. Unfortunately, our relationship had dwindled. It was a fraction of what it had been overshadowed by tragedy and mistrust.

"Can I ask…how exactly is your father's termination your fault?"

"That shit with Jackson mostly and a few other things."

"You never really explained that. Actually, you haven't explained quite a bit." Accusation was heavy in my tone. Guilt plagued me instantly and I shook my head, nuzzling his chest. "But we can talk about that later. I just, I miss you, Stiles. A lot. And I'm worried about you."

"I know," he whimpered. "I miss you, too. Sam, I swear, it's not supposed to be like this. I don't mean for it to be. For my girlfriend to always have to question me. For my dad to get canned and be so disappointed in me that he can't even yell about it. For my best friend to be…" He sighed. "It just shouldn't be this way."

Stiles took my hands. "I should be taking you to dinner. Or to the movies. Or horseback riding. Do you even like horses? I don't know."

"All young girls like horses," I murmured. The beautiful boy slid his hand up to graze my face gently, "Sammy, I know you have no idea what's going on and I swear to God I want to tell you. It would make all of this so much easier."

"What's stopping you?" I asked softly.

"Honestly?" He sniffed. "Because I'm afraid you'll go running and screaming and to be frank you're the only good thing in my life right now. You keep me grounded. I can't lose you, Sam."

"Is it that bad?" I whispered, tears gathering in my eyes.

His nostrils flared. He glanced away, jaw ticking. "Kinda…it's bad, Sammy."

"I have to know, Stiles. I can't keep on like this. Feigning obliviousness. Pretending that these strange things aren't happening. Turning a blind eye to all the killings."

He took a quivering breath. "I know."

"But you're not going to tell me, are you?"

The devastated look on his flawless features said it all. His voice broke as he cried the words that would shatter our relationship. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

"I know you are, Stiles. I am too."

* * *

><p>I hadn't spoken to Stiles in over three days. This was a new record since we'd begun dating. The ADD ridden teen was so attention deprived that since the moment we started dating he couldn't go so much as one day without sending me at least a single text. A text which was usually followed up by a face to face meeting. But as I stood at my locker collecting what I'd need for my homework that weekend, I wallowed in his newfound silence.<p>

Wallowing, that is, until Lydia slammed her petite, manicured hand against the locker next to mine. Not even lying, I jumped and screamed a little. Lydia grinned brightly, "Sorry. Did I scare you?"

"No, not at all. Hence the scream," I rolled my eyes. "Is there something I can help you with, Lydia?"

"You're coming to my party, right?"

My brow furrowed. "I was invited?"

"Of course!"

"But I didn't get an invitation…"

Lydia gave a condescending smile. "I never send out invites. I don't need to. It's the biggest party of the year. Everyone knows. That's how it worked last year, silly."

"Um, I didn't go last year," I awkwardly mumbled.

The brilliant yet annoying girl blinked. "You didn't? Why not?"

"Because I just hate you so much" I almost spat. Thank God I have fantastic self-control. Instead what came out was, "I think I had a family thing."

"Oh," she perked up. "Well, anything family gatherings this year?"

"Not that I know of." Unfortunately.

"Excellent. Then I'll see you there. Ooh, and bring your friend Olivia. Her boy toy and the gay guy are welcome, too."

Somehow I found that insulting. "Sure, thanks, Lydia," I nodded. She shot me a final blinding grin before disappearing down the hallway. As she did, Livy appeared. My best friend furrowed her brow, "What was that about?"

"I hate her," I ignored the question. "Maybe's it because Stiles was in love with her for like, a friggin decade. But I just hate her so much. Like so much."

"Really?" Olivia faked surprise. "This is brand new information for me. Please, pause while I absorb."

"Shut up. Are you going to her birthday party?"

"She's having a birthday party?"

I shrieked. "See?! That's what I said. Why does she assume people give a shit? Does she realize everyone's still talking about her little nude two-day hiking trip?"

Livy shrugged. "Personally I don't really care. Are you ready to go? My mom's got some kind of chocolate mousse desert waiting at the house for us to try out. I figured it was kinda perfect since you're having your man troubles. Cause what's better for a depressed teenage girl than chocolate?

"Sex," I said automatically. "We haven't had sex since my birthday adventure."

"If it makes you feel better I don't think Lydia's getting sex for her b-day."

I bit my lip. "Is it sad that that actually _does_ make me feel better?"

My best friend gave a barking laugh. She slung her arm around my shoulders. "Yes, yes it is sad. But that's why I love you. Now, shut up and let's go get some chocolate."

**Super depressing turn in the drama that is Stiles and Sam, huh? But don't worry. I'm too much of a sap to let them hurt for long. Any guesses as to what will happen next? Post your ideas in a review and I'll hit you back! Thanks again, everyone.**

**QUESTION FOR TEEN WOLF FANS:**

**If you were dating Stiles how would you react to his behavior? Would you break up with him? Would you pull a Lydia and pretend not to notice? Also who is your favorite new character this season? **


	9. Chapter 9

**Are you guys surprised I'm updating so soon? Me too. There I was, sitting in my three hour government lecture when I just decided my professor was full of shit and stopped taking notes. My mind drifted and this chapter just slapped me in the face. Honestly, I don't know how to feel about it. Part of it makes me super happy. And yet at the same time it kinda makes me wanna cry. **

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I promised to respond to the reviews and I will. I've already gotten a few of you but I still have some left; if you haven't heard from me, don't worry. I'm getting there! **

**Anyway, I guess now I'll just let this chapter speak for itself. Enjoy. **

**p.s. I didn't really have time to edit this. I would wait to post it so I could edit it later, but I'm really itching to see your reaction. So I'm just going to apologize now. **

**NOTE: I changed quite a bit about the episode "Party Guessed". I needed to manipulate Lydia's party to fit my own evil plan. So now harping, mmkay? It's different with purpose. **

**PART NUEVE: **

"Are you sure you don't need a ride?" asked Stiles for the twelfth time.

I clutched the phone using my shoulder as I struggled to conquer the wrapping paper. "Yeah, I'm sure. Olivia's giving me a ride. But I'll…um, see you there?"

There came a brief, awkward pause before Stiles sighed, "Okay, yeah. See ya there. Just be careful. Wear your seatbelt." His words were meant humorously. Yet, the immensely depressed tone sort of sucked all the humor right out. I said goodbye and tossed my cell aside. Glaring at Lydia's present – a scarf I impulsively bought on sale at Charlotte Russe and never wore – I rubbed my temple. All this crap was giving me a headache.

Suddenly, our doorbell rang. My father shouted from his study, telling me to answer it. I trudged downstairs, unlocked the dead bolt, and was greeted with a glaring Livy. "Why was your door locked?"

"Um…cause like, people are getting murdered left and right around here. Why didn't you use your key?"

"It's in my nightstand at home. What? Don't look at me like that. Your mom never locks the door. I've never needed it." She shuffled her feet indifferently. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. Let me run upstairs and grab her gift."

Livy's eyes widened. "You got her a gift?"

Rolling my eyes, I grinned. "You're awful. And I love it."

When we arrived at the Martins' estate, the driveway was virtually deserted. Only Stiles' Jeep and Mrs. McCall's car were visible. My best friend and I exchanged confused glances. "I thought Lydia said this was-"

Olivia joined me, "The biggest party of the year."

We peered around. I chewed my cheek, "So where is everyone?"

"Maybe they're pulling a prank on us," she mumbled. "Oh! Or Stiles is proposing!"

"You're an idiot."

She frowned. "Words hurt, Sam."

Lydia answered after one knock. There was a punch bowl in her hand, an anxious, wide eyed stare on her face. Her lips spread into a broad grin and she began gushing before either of us could so much as say 'Happy Birthday'. "Hello! Please, come in! Come in. Everyone's out back on the patio."

Everyone?

Stiles, Scott, and Allison uncomfortably loitered on the Martin's pool deck. When we approached Allison happily chirped a greeting causing the boys' heads to snap up. "Well," Lydia chimed as she set the punch bowl on a buffet-style table. "Why is everyone just standing around? Drink! Eat! Be merry and all that. The food isn't going to eat itself. Oh, was that the door? I'll be right back."

"She's been checking the door every three seconds," murmured Scott apathetically.

"About that, where is everyone?" snorted Olivia. Scott looked about hopefully, "Maybe it's just early?"

His best friend licked his lips. "Or maybe nobody's coming because Lydia turned into the town whack job."

"We have to do something," I said pitifully. As far as parties went this was pretty much the shittiest one yet. Olivia yawned, "I'm sorry. Why is our responsibility?"

"We _have_ completely ignored her for the past two weeks," Allison pointed out. Her not-so-secret boyfriend frowned, "She's completely ignored us for the past ten years."

"Guys," Allison whined. The boys looked at each other and resigned with sighs. Scott nodded, "I can call…the lacrosse team? They're always down to…party, I guess."

"I met some lovely ladies, err, pretend ladies at The Jungle the other night. I can give them a call," muttered Stiles. Livy's eyebrows rose, "Picking up trannies, now? Should we be worried?"

"Ha, ha."

The boys made their calls while Allison, Olivia, and I hit up the buffet. We sampled a few of the little pastries but overlooked the mini sandwiches on account of we couldn't honestly tell what was in them. Tuna fish? Mutated chicken, maybe. All pretty gross. "Dude, try the little chocolate thing," Allison insisted, Olivia declaring the exact opposite. As they entered a minor debate over the dessert, I drifted to the edge of the pool. Plopping down by the ladder, I slipped off my shoes and stuck my feet in the water.

"Hey."

Stiles was looming over me. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Scuffing his Vans on the concrete patio, he sheepishly asked, "Can I sit?"

"Go ahead."

"How've you been?" he asked. The question 'Where have you been?' lingered unspoken between us. I swayed my feet in the water and felt a very eerie sense of déjà vu. Like we were at the dock again on his mother's secret pond. I half shrugged, "Eh. Been better."

Stiles gazed at me with those ever gorgeous honey eyes. He frowned. "Can I hug you?"

My brow itched together. "What? Why would you ask?"

"I just…I don't know where we stand anymore, Sam," he admitted with a sigh. And then, he tentatively slung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. My hands slithered up his arms to wrap around his neck. Our cheeks pressed together and I could feel our hearts beating between us. God, I missed him so much. His lips brushed my cheek, sweeping up to press several little kisses across my temple and in my hair. He rested his forehead on mine. We didn't speak and yet so much was said. Finally, he gingerly captured my lips in a breathtaking yet chaste kiss. "Sam-"

"There he is!" A falsely high pitched voice squealed with delight. We broke apart to see an extremely tall cross dresser traipsing across Lydia's patio, his/her heels clacking on the concrete. A parade of men and women followed him/her. "We were wondering when we'd see you again! Ooh, Marla, look, boo got himself a girl. Hmm, and she cute too!"

"Where do you find these people?" I whispered. Bashfully, he shrugged, "They kinda find me."

With the party in full swing I found it hard to get Stiles alone. I tried to keep up with him. There was still so much to be said but was Lydia's birthday party really the place to hash this out? So I sort of gave up and stalked Olivia the whole night. Unfortunately, she got wrapped up with some bench warmer on the lacrosse team and disappeared into a coat closet. Pointlessly roaming the Martins' home, I wound up in the den, skimming the bookshelves. "Someone doesn't look like they're having fun," the birthday girl herself appeared.

"Oh, no. The party's great. Really. Quite impressive. Stiles and I are, well…" I spoke. Then, thankfully, my brain kicked in and I realized I was talking to Lydia. Friggin' Lydia, of all people. I mean, I know I'm having problems but Lydia? I'd rather talk to that hobo who sleeps under the water tower. "Sorry! Man, you don't wanna hear this. It's your birthday!"

"That's right! It_ is_ my birthday," she beamed. The fashionista looped her arm through mine guiding me through the packed halls of her home. "And since it is my day I want everyone to have as much as I am! You don't look like you're having fun at all. You know what you need? A drink." She halted her steps as we came to the buffet table. Perched on the end was the large, glass punch bowl. Lydia picked up the ladle and poured the punch into a matching glass cup. I studied the light pink liquid bringing the cup to my nose. The scent was strange. Almost fruity but not quite. "Is it pink lemonade?"

Lydia's nose wrinkled as she smiled, "Something like that. Please, drink. I made it myself."

Lifting the glass to my mouth, I paused. I don't know why but something about the excited glimmer in her eyes made me think of the Grimm Tale 'Hansel and Gretel'. She nudged my elbow, "Drink." So I did. And it was fucking delicious. I giggled, embarrassed that I'd practically slammed the punch like a shot. "Lydia, that was really good! Like, damn good."

Her lips pursed cockily. "I know."

She left me then, disappearing with several glasses of punch. I had two more cups of the punch before refilling the glass one last time and going off in search of Olivia. She had to try this shit. Only, I never found her and I ended up drinking it myself. Having drank too much, I abruptly had to pee. Stumbling inside, I began to question whether Lydia spiked the punch when Stiles collided with me, nearly knocking me over. "What the hell, Stiles?!"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, watch where you're going," I snapped, scrambling to my feet. My estranged boyfriend shook his head, "No, you don't get it. I'm sorry for the lies and confusion. You have to know, I didn't want to scare you. I won't hurt you, Sam. Not like them."

"Like who?"

The beautiful boy blinked. "The ones I murdered."

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Absolute terror consumed me. My pulse sped up, my heart thumping wildly. The room began to spin as blood rushed to my ears and my stomach plummeted to the floor. I couldn't hear the music or the raucous party goers. My vision blurred and I had to clamp my eyes shut as I fought the overwhelming urge to vomit. No! Just, no! Legs turning to Jell-O, I fell back into the wall, my head smashing painfully into the corner of a picture frame. "Shit!" I hissed, hand flying to the back of my skull. "Stiles, wh-"

But he wasn't there. Like a ghost, he had vanished. "Stiles? Stiles?!"

"He's out back, honey!" A passing man/woman wearing a blue boa shouted.

What the hell? I began to panic, my chest squeezing tightly. I placed my hand over my heart and dug the heel of my palm into my chest. The dueling pains helped to calm the pain and I was able to catch my breath. Climbing the stairs frantically, I locked myself in the bathroom. Hunting the cabinets, I found a wash cloth and dampened it. Wetting my face and chest, I glared at my reflection. What the fuck just happened? Was I hallucinating? He had seemed so real! Suddenly, dread filled my gut as I realized what happened.

My first instinct was to find Stiles. He was lounging beside the pool, propped up on a pillar. His eyes were hazy as they stared off into the distance. He looked high. 'The ones I murdered.'

"Stiles?" I croaked, my insides twisting and turning painfully.

He immediately sobered and scrambled to stand. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"I-I think I've been drugged."

"What?" he gasped. Cupping my face, Stiles guided my eyes toward the light. "Are you feeling any dizziness? Difficulty walking?"

"I've been drinking. Isn't that like, standard?" I asked, gripping his arms for support. I could barely stand on my own. Stiles nodded, "Yeah, this isn't good. Are you sleepy at all? Having trouble keeping your eyes open?"

"Not really. I don't think…I don't. I mean, I'm kinda tired but…" I mumbled.

"Shit, baby. Come on, let's get you home." Leaning into his side, I reveled in the comfort Stiles provided as he dragged me to his Jeep. Stiles opened the passenger door and lifted me into the seat. Blinking, I ran my hand down his arm. "Does anyone know how strong you really are?"

He shook his head. "Not really. The whole dork factor kinda makes that get overlooked. Hey, baby, keep your eyes open, okay? Don't fall asleep. Sam, you can't fall asleep."

"Stiles!" Scott burst through the Martins' front door. "Hey, uh, can we talk for a second?"

"Not really. I gotta get Sam outta here. Something's wrong. She…she looks like she's been drugged."

"That's sort of the problem. I think there's something wrong with everyone. Like…like at the bar," Scott emphasized. His eyes growing wide, he gestured to Stiles. I snorted, my head resting against the Jeep's door frame, "Your friend is not very covert. Smooth, Scoot. Smooth."

"Did you just call him Scoot?"

I scoffed, "Did I?"

"Stiles!" Scott called once again. Growling, Stiles spun, "What, Scott? In case you haven't noticed my girlfriend is kind of out of her fucking mind right now? She needs me, Scott! And you know what? I'm sick and tired of helping everyone else and my family suffering for it! For once the people I care about are going to be a priority! So you go in there and play hero, Scott. Everyone knows you're Batman, anyway. I'm just Robin."

Scott's face crumbled. His shoulders sagged and he stared helplessly as Stiles carefully shut my door and stalked around the front of his Jeep. He slid in behind the steering wheel, started the engine, and, with one last glance back at his gaping best friend, drove off. As he navigated the dark back roads of Beacon Hills, he repeatedly glanced in the review mirror and flexed his grip on the steering wheel. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly. "Still awake over there?"

"I think I might be dreaming," I grumbled. "You don't ever fight with Scott. And though I only understood about a third of what was said, you're not the type of guy who picks a girl over his lifelong best friend. So I'm just trying to figure out if I'm dreaming or if this is the first sign of the Apocalypse."

Stiles gave a dry chuckle. He reached over and sought my hand. Our fingers laced and he stroked the back of my palm with his thumb. "You misunderstood, Sammy. I'm not choosing you over Scott. I'm choosing me. For months this…this mess has been killing me. It's like…one giant, never ending panic attack. Only no matter how many times I stick my head between my knees it doesn't stop. I keep telling myself that I'm doing the right thing, that we're saving people but it doesn't seem to be enough. No matter how hard we try, we can't save everyone. And I just can't do it anymore. I won't."

"Stiles…you're totally Batman."

Our eyes met and he smiled sadly. "Thanks, Sammy."

Instead of taking me home, Stiles drove to his house. "Given that thrilling speech your father gave when he found out we stayed in the hotel together, I don't really want to hear what he'd come up with if I brought you home drugged. He has a very colorful vocabulary, by the way. I meant to tell you that weeks ago."

The elder Stilinksy was out for the night and Stiles led me straight to his room. He dug around finding a semi-clean hoodie and sweat pants for me to change into. I frowned at the baggy clothing. "As your immune system fights the drug you'll get cold," he explained. "Think you can stay awake long enough for me to run downstairs and grab some food? You need to put something on your stomach."

I assured him I'd been fine. He kissed my forehead and left the room. Curling up against his headboard, I pulled his navy comforter around me and stared at the giant anime character on his wall. He was such a teenage boy. Stiles returned a few moments later with a bowl of cold spaghetti and two forks. He settled next to me and offered a fork. "Bon appetite, my lady."

We munched in silence. The more I ate, the harder it got to fight the oncoming exhaustion. Stabbing my fork into the spaghetti, I pushed the bowl into Stiles' lap and coiled myself around his arm. I snuggled into his shoulder. "Will he be very mad at you?" I asked, absentmindedly.

"I don't care if he is."

"That's such a lie," I pointed out. Then, I added, "This sucks."

"The spaghetti? We have some chicken in the freezer. I can make fajitas."

A laugh bubbled up my throat. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

He sighed and set the bowl aside, pulling me into his lap. Stiles stroked my hair sweetly. "I'm going to make this right. I'm done with it, Sam. I can't keep doing this to you, to my dad. It's not fair. You and my dad mean the world to me. I lost my mom, I losing my father, and I'm about to lose you too. Unless…I've lost you already…?"

Lifting my head, I met his eyes. He looked so scared. So vulnerable. He'd probably hate himself if he knew how much of an open book he was being at the moment. I took hold of his chin, brushing my lips over his own. "You haven't lost me, Stiles. You'll never lose me. I love you."

His eyes fluttered closed. A muscle flexed in his jaw. "God, Sam, I love you, too."

**Thoughts?**

**QUESTION II FOR TEEN WOLF FANS:**

**What do you guys think of Peter Hale's return? Do you think he's really changed? (I think he's a douche, but…you know, that's me.) Should Derek trust him? Will he be part of Derek's pack now? **

**Also, do you guys feel I'm still being true to the characters in this story? Particularly Stiles. With manipulating the story arch, I want to make sure I'm being honest to who Stiles is. So just let me know. Thank you all so much! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry it's taken so long to get this out. I struggled a lot with how I wanted Sam to find out about all this mess. I wanted Stiles to tell her but at the same time I knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't risk losing her that way. So I sort of compromised. Stiles tells her a little and then the rest…well, you'll see, won't you?**

**A huge, huge thank you to everyone supporting this story. To everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or alerted, you are wonderful. I'm so glad you all enjoy this as much as I do. Teen Wolf is an amazing show and Stiles is just friggin' awesome. It's really fun to explore this world of awesome with you. **

**PART DIEZ:**

I woke to the sound of Stiles' whispered voice. "-sorry...got outta hand...hate Matt! Told you!" My body and mind still slightly sluggish, I rolled over slowly and snuggled deeper into Stiles' comforter. He glanced down at me, cupping the receiver of his phone, "Sorry, Sammy."

He moved to leave the room but I caught his arm mumbling what was supposed to have been "Stay," though I suspect the slurred word wasn't understandable. Sinking back into the bed, Stiles quickly wrapped up his phone call. "How're you feeling?" he asked, tossing his cell aside.

"M'better."

Chucking softly, he muttered a tease about me being a 'real morning person' and offered to make me breakfast. I curled around him. His chest was bare and cold. He'd been up for a while. "Not spaghetti," I murmured against his shoulder.

"Damn. I was really looking forward to trying out that spaghetti pancake recipe."

It took me nearly twenty minutes to shake the morning grogginess. When I gained full consciousness, I grimaced as the events of the previous night slammed into me like a freight train. "Did I really-"

"Throw up in my book bag? Yep."

"Oh my God." I wanted to bury my head in embarrassment and never resurface. "Stiles, I am so sorry. That's so disgusting. I'll totally buy you a new one. A better one. Oh, God, that's humiliating."

"Don't worry about it. Just do me a favor? Um...no kisses until you've brushed your teeth. Like, ten times. I'd even consider gargling with bleach."

I covered my face with my hands. "Kill me. Now. Oh shit! My parents - they're going to kill me."

"Already taken care of," Stiles said. "Last night when it was clear you weren't going to sober up anytime soon I sent them a text from your phone saying you were staying with Olivia. Then, I texted Olivia so she'd know to collaborate."

I felt my jaw slacken in disbelief. "You are wonderful..." Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. "I have got to stop getting in these situations...what, uh...what about Scott? Did you guys really fight last night or was I hallucinating that, too?"

He frowned. "Nope. That was definitely real. But we're good. For now. He called this morning and apologized. We both acted like dicks last night."

"Stiles, what happened last night?"

The beautiful boy sighed, running a hand over his close shaven head. "Honestly, it looks like Lydia drugged everyone. Scott was seeing things, too, and according to him everyone was tripping out before the cops were called."

I scoffed. "Why would Lydia drug her own guests?"

"Because she's sort of been out of her freaking mind since prom?"

"Thank you, Captain Smartass," I swatted his chest. I untangled from Stiles and drew my knees to my chest. The wheels in my mind were spinning, connecting the dots here and there. Unfortunately, there were dozens of gaps in my knowledge leaving holes in my mental map. "It has something to do with all this crap, doesn't it?"

"Yes," he begrudgingly replied.

"You won't tell me how, though? Look, can you at least answer a few questions? Are you...I mean, you're not hurting anyone are you?"

Again, Stiles frowned. Only this time pain was evident in his honey brown eyes. "Do you_ think_ I'd hurt someone?"

"Statistically, about thirty-five percent of serial killers and rapists are married with children. I doubt their wives think they'd hurt anyone..." I mumbled diplomatically. "But, no, Stiles, I don't think you'd hurt anyone which is why all of this is so confusing."

"Why? Why do you know that statistic?"

"Olivia. She-"

"Knows everything. Yeah..." he nodded. Stiles sighed and licked his lips. "Sam, throughout all this mess the only people I've hurt are you and my father. I swear. And that was unintentional."

I bit my lip. "I believe you. Okay, next question. Do you know what's doing this?"

His jaw steeled. He glanced away, fiddling with the frayed edges of the comforter. "Yes," he confessed quietly. My stomach tightened to the point of pain. I reflected on Isaac's cryptic words that night of the rave. "You're trying to stop it, aren't you? You and Scott and Isaac and Derek."

"Not it," he corrected. "Him."

"It's human? A person is doing all this? Stiles, you can't combat a serial killer! Shit, you're just a bunch of teenagers for Christ's sake! Why haven't you gone for help? Why haven't you just told someone? Fuck, babe, you're dad's the sheriff!"

"It's..." he struggled to speak. "Complicated."

I slapped his arm. "And you're stupid!"

"Wha-ow! Sam, you don't understand. He's not…he can't control it. He can't stop himself."

"What, like he's schizophrenic or something?"

Stiles paused. "Yeah, sure. That sounds plausible."

"Stiles!"

"Okay, okay! Someone's making him do it."

"How? Some guy tells me to slaughter twenty people and I just do? Bullshit," I snapped.

"No, it's not like that...damn, I hate to make this reference but you've seen Twilight, right?" he asked and I nodded. Where was he going with this?

"Well, the werewolves...oh, the irony." Stiles blushed. "Anyway, um, in their pack whenever the alpha tells them to do something they have to. They literally have no choice. Even when their mind fights it, their body does it."

I scoffed, "So the killer is a mind-controlled werewolf."

"Um, no. Not exactly. Big picture - he's being controlled against his will. We aren't even sure if he knows he's committing the murders."

"But how?!" I exclaimed. "Stiles, none of this makes sense! Logical sense! How is he being controlled?"

Stiles frowned once more. "He just is, Sam...and we finally think we know who's doing the controlling. That's what Scott called about this morning."

"So let me get this straight. You and your little Justice League-Wannabe friends know who the killer is, know who is supposedly controlling him with his mind, and are trying to...?"

"Kill the bad guy, stop the monster, and save the world. Err, Beacon Hills."

I nodded with an overwhelming, yet false comprehension. "Okay...well...just...fuck."

"Tell me about it," he snorted.

* * *

><p>Mr. Stilinsky arrived a little after ten o'clock that morning. Stiles quietly explained, "He was at the station all night pouring over the murders but don't say anything. Strictly speaking, he isn't allowed to look at active cases."<p>

The former sheriff didn't look the least surprised to find me standing in his kitchen when he stumbled in, running on cheap caffeine and sporadic power naps. "Good to see you again, Samantha," he declared, pulling me into a side hug. It had been a few weeks since I'd been over to the Stilinsky household as a result of the recent strain on my relationship with Stiles. I returned Mr. Stilinsky's hug fiercely - he looked like he needed a good hug - and asked, "Hungry?"

The older man flashed me a dimpled grin that reminded me so much of his son. "Starving."

Rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, I managed to find all the ingredients needed to make French Toast and got started. As I whipped the eggs, milk, and cinnamon, Stiles sauntered up to the counter. "Need any help?" he asked, eyes sheepishly sweeping over the food scatter about. He was an excellent chef but always doubted his skills. Especially if it was a recipe he'd never tried before; so I gave him a relatively simple task. "Wanna cut up the strawberries?"

Half an hour later the three of us gather around the kitchen table and sat down to a nice, normal family breakfast. As we devoured the sweet bread, I couldn't help but continuously glance between the father and son affectionately. They were so much alike, both so kind and selfless to a fault. The former sheriff caught my gaze and smiled. Sipping his coffee, he took another bite of French Toast before asking, "The two of you aren't think about getting married, are you?"

I nearly bit my tongue. Stiles, who choked on his food, sputtered and scrambled to wipe his chin. "Dad!"

"What?" he shrugged simply. "I'm just saying. Your mother and I were very young when we got married. Not quite as young as you but...it was a perfectly valid question. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Sam."

My cheeks on fire, I shook my head. "It's fine, sir."

"No, it's not," Stiles grumbled. He looked ready to die. "Seriously, dad. I think you need a nap. A really, really long nap."

A wistful expression fell on Mr. Stilinsky's face. "A nap does sound nice."

"Geez, how late did you stay up, dad?"

The older man's brow furrowed, "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday," I giggled.

"Huh. You don't say. I could've sworn it was Thursday."

"Go to bed, dad," Stiles said. The former sheriff looked at his half-eaten plate, "You know I just might." He took one final sip of coffee, wiped his hands, and set his napkin on the table. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, clasping a hand on his son's shoulder. "Night, son," he murmured. As he passed my chair, the gentle man dipped his head to place a chaste kiss in my hair. "Night, to you too, Sam. Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious."

"Goodnight, sir," I grinned. We fell silent as his dad slowly headed up stairs. When the former sheriff's bedroom door clicked shut, Stiles dropped his head to the table, "So apparently we're getting married now."

I chortled. "I'm telling you now, I'm going to need a rock. Like, a huge, obnoxious, sparkly diamond on a white-gold band. Got that?"

Stiles frowned, "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

Stiles took me home shortly afterward, kissing my temple and advising that I get some more rest. My parents were out and as I slipped upstairs, I tried not to think about Stiles's confession that morning. Mind control? Teenagers going against a supernatural serial killer? Lydia drugging me and everyone else? This shit was just too friggin' weird. And then we sat down to breakfast with his father like nothing was wrong. Was this how his life was now? A series of awful, dangerous events interwoven with lies and cute, little family time?

Olivia showed up around five. She stumbled inside wearing a pair of sweat pants and an old, faded hoodie, her hair a mess and her eyes heavy. "Dude, what the hell happened last night? Thanks for ditching me, by the way."

"Well, Stiles-"

"Yeah, I know. I got the text. Did you at least get laid?"

My brow furrowed. "I highly doubt it though I can't really say for sure as I don't remember most of the night. I can, however, recall that I threw up in his backpack."

She winced. "Lovely. And I'm assuming he jumped your bones right then?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely. Did you make it home okay?" I asked, leading her into the kitchen. I began to put together a nutritious dinner – pepperoni pizza rolls, beef flavored ramen, and double stuffed Oreos. Livy shrugged, "If by home you mean Lydia's patio, then yes. I slept on the outdoor futon. I was way too sloshed to drive. The maid woke me up this morning."

"Did you see Lydia?"

Livy shook her head. I chewed my lip, debating whether or not to tell her Lydia probably drugged the party goers. "Did you…I mean, you didn't see anything weird last night, right? You didn't hallucinate? You were just drunk?"

She eyed me strangely. "Um. Yeah. Why? Did _you_ hallucinate?"

I was quiet for a moment, manifesting two plates from the cabinet and piling them high with the pizza rolls fresh from the oven. Livy called my name and repeated her question. I turned, back pressed against the counter. Folding my arms over my chest, I shrugged, "I think so. I'm fine, now. Stiles took care of me but…I wasn't the only one. Scott was seeing things too."

"Okay, so you and McCall got some bad weed or something."

"You know I don't smoke," I rolled my eyes. We moved to the living room and curling up on the couch, our food in our laps. Livy was browsing Netflix as she began to devour her plate. She chose some Tom Hardy flick and asked, "So you think what? Everyone was drugged?"

"What do you remember about last night?"

"Well, not a lot but that happens every time I drink."

"And today, right now. This feels like a normal hangover? I've never seen you look like this. Your hangovers are always gone by noon and you don't throw up when you're hungover. I'd bet a hundred bucks you threw up this morning."

Olivia frowned. "Okay, so…I drank a little bit more than normal last night, making my hangover worse. The bad hangover made me puke. Big deal. That doesn't mean I was drugged."

"I'm not saying it does, I'm just saying it's a possibility."

"Who would drug us?"

Lydia's name was on the tip of my tongue. But my best friend was gazing at me with such a familiar face that I lost all train of thought. Her nose and eyes were wrinkled in disbelief, her mouth pulled into a thin, judgmental line. The pure skepticism made me lose my breath. That was the same face I gave Stiles nearly every time he fed me some bullshit about this mess. I was Stiles now, and Olivia was me. I shifted on the couch, trying to change the conversation, "I-I don't know. You're right. It's silly. How're the pizza rolls?"

It was nearly three a.m. when my phone rang. Olivia moaned, rolling over beside me. She shoved at me, "Answer your phone. Saaaam. Wake up and answer your phone!"

I fumbled for my phone on the night stand. Blindly, I punched at the touch screen. "Yello?"

"Get him off of me," growled a man's voice. My brow furrowed and I whined in my sleep, "What?" I drew the phone away, squinting at the screen, "Stiles?"

There was a staticy quality of the line. Like I was on speaker phone. Had Stiles butt dialed me? There came another male voice, different from the first and certainly not Stiles. "Oh, I don't know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kinda suck, though, to have all that power taken away from you with a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not use to feeling this helpless."

Derek? Stiles was with Derek?

The growling voice returned, spatting, "Still got some teeth. Get down a little closer, huh? We'll see how helpless I am."

Sitting up in my bed, I pushing my falling hair out of my face. "Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me? Stiles!"

"Dude, shut up," Olivia mumbled, pulling the blanket over her face. I slapped her arm, "Livy, something's wrong."

"Is that her?" came a shout from the phone. It was the other male voice and he grew a bit more distant, "Do what I tell you and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

Hurt her? Hurt who! And Jackson's there, too?

"Scott, don't trust him!" shouted a voice that was distinctly Stiles. My heart lurched in my chest, my stomach knotting as my eyes blurred with tears. What the hell was happening? There was the sound of a scuffle, the phone slightly muffled for a moment. It sounded like the phone had been dropped and the other male voice abruptly shouted, "Does this work better for you?!"

"Okay, just stop!" begged a fourth voice, his clipped words shouted with agony. The voice, I recognized, belonged to Scott. "Stop!"

"Then do what I tell you to!" The other man yelled.

"Okay! Just stop!" Scott pleaded again and I felt everything inside me scream. Something was seriously wrong.

"Livy, Livy! Get up!" I shrieked. "Call the police. Tell them…" Tell them what? That my boyfriend had butt-dialed me while he was getting attack? Think, Sam! "Tell them that Stiles and Scott are in trouble. Tell them to track Stiles phone and then call Mr. Stilinsky! Now, Livy!"

The other voice snapped, "You, take them out there. You, come with me."

I sprang from the bed, searching for my sneakers. I put the phone on speaker as I shoved my feet into the shoes and pulled on a jacket. Livy fumbled with her phone, calling 9-1-1. I snatched my keys off the dresser, motioning for her to follow. All of a sudden, there came a shuffle through the phone and then –

A gun shot.

**As you guys can hopefully tell, the next chapter is gonna be pretty action packed. Which is a huge first for this story. There hasn't been a whole lot of supernatural-ness in this story, simply because I wanted to focus on the dynamics of Stiles and Sam's relationship. Unfortunately, it was sort of inevitable. She's known something was up all along and we've reached the point where Sammy can only take so much more. **

**How do you guys think she'll react? How would you react if you were in her position? **


	11. Chapter 11

**Nine months. It's been nine months. Holy shit balls, I'm so sorry. But, as **BrittWitt16 **predicted, the new season has inspired me! That premiere was awesome, no? **

**Anyway, I wanted to apologize for taking so long to get this out and also to thank those who have stuck with this story while I've been procrastinating. To try and make it up to you, I made this chapter a little longer than normal. It's not much but…hey, what can ya do?**

**A major thank you to: **Dawnie-7, BrittWitt16, Alice, Skitter-Experiment, CuteSango07, ohsolauren, Night-Weaver369, maryobryan, samantha, **and all you lovely **Guest **reviewers. You guys are freaking awesome and I love you. A lot. Also, to those new to the story, welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.**

**Soooo... a reviewer, **beba78, **suggested that I write an Isaac/OC story when I was finished with this one and I agree. I just adore Isaac. Last season he became my second favorite character on the show (second only to Stiles, of course) and I've already started writing out a new story. It's a basic Isaac/OC. It will follow along with the plot of the show, but won't necessarily include what happens in each episode, a lot like this story. What do you guys think? Would anyone read it?**

**I've attached the last little bit from Part Ten at the beginning of this one to try and help you guys follow along better since it's been so stinking long since the last chapter. I hope it's not confusing.**

**Enjoy! (Also, see the authors note at the end for why this story is marked **_**Complete.**_**)**

**PART ONCE**

It was nearly three a.m. when my phone rang. Olivia moaned, rolling over beside me. She shoved at me, "Answer your phone. Saaaam. Wake up and answer your phone!"

I fumbled for my phone on the night stand. Blindly, I punched at the touch screen. "Yello?"

"Get him off of me," growled a man's voice. My brow furrowed and I whined in my sleep, "What?" I drew the phone away, squinting at the screen, "Stiles?"

There was a staticy quality of the line. Like I was on speaker phone. Had Stiles butt dialed me? There came another male voice, different from the first and certainly not Stiles. "Oh, I don't know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kinda suck, though, to have all that power taken away from you with a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not use to feeling this helpless."

Derek? Stiles was with Derek?

The growling voice returned, spatting, "Still got some teeth. Get down a little closer, huh? We'll see how helpless I am."

Sitting up in my bed, I pushing my falling hair out of my face. "Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me? Stiles!"

"Dude, shut up," Olivia mumbled, pulling the blanket over her face. I slapped her arm, "Livy, something's wrong."

"Is that her?" came a shout from the phone. It was the other male voice and he grew a bit more distant, "Do what I tell you and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

Hurt her? Hurt who! And Jackson's there, too?

"Scott, don't trust him!" shouted a voice that was distinctly Stiles. My heart lurched in my chest, my stomach knotting as my eyes blurred with tears. What the hell was happening? There was the sound of a scuffle, the phone slightly muffled for a moment. It sounded like the phone had been dropped and the other male voice abruptly shouted, "Does this work better for you?!"

"Okay, just stop!" begged a fourth voice, his clipped words shouted with agony. The voice, I recognized, belonged to Scott. "Stop!"

"Then do what I tell you to!" The other man yelled.

"Okay! Just stop!" Scott pleaded again and I felt everything inside me scream. Something was seriously wrong.

"Livy, Livy! Get up!" I shrieked. "Call the police. Tell them…" Tell them what? That my boyfriend had butt-dialed me while he was getting attack? Think, Sam! "Tell them that Stiles and Scott are in trouble. Tell them to track Stiles phone and then call Mr. Stilinsky! Now, Livy!"

The other voice snapped, "You, take them out there. You, come with me."

I sprang from the bed, searching for my sneakers. I put the phone on speaker as I shoved my feet into the shoes and pulled on a jacket. Livy fumbled with her phone, calling 9-1-1. I snatched my keys off the dresser, motioning for her to follow. All of a sudden, there came a shuffle through the phone and then –

A gun shot.

And then the line went dead.

"Was that…?" Livy whispered. We were frozen on the spot, the phone clutched tightly in my hand, the speaker buzzing with a muffled static. My thumb pressed the "END" button. Tears brimmed my eyes and I struggled to breathe, "I think…that was a gun shot."

"Shit, Sam. What do we do?"

"I don't know."

"W-what's happening?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, shit, can we trace his phone?"

My face grumbled into a look of pure incredulousness as I gazed at Olivia. "Trace his phone? What are we, the fucking FBI?"

She glared at me. "The police can track it, right?"

"Damnit, I _don't know_!" I snapped. Wincing, I tried to calm down. My pulse thudded in my ears and I could practically feel the blood pumping furiously through my veins. _So this is what adrenaline really feels like…_ "Are you calling the police?" I demanded, my body snapping back into movement. I was being driven my pure instinct, my feet shuffling despite the dizzy blindfold falling over my brain. We headed downstairs, passed my parents' bedroom, and out the front door silently.

"Yeah, but it's just ringing. No one's picking up at the station." Livy paused as we reached my car. "Sam, where are we going?"

"To get Mr. Stilinsky."

The driveway of the Stilinksy household was empty when we pulled onto the block. There was no sign of Stiles' Jeep or the former Sheriff's police cruiser. My heart clenched. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Olivia leaned forward to gaze out the windshield at my boyfriend's home. It was as if she was hoping he would pop up in his bedroom window with a big, fat, cheesy grin and shout, 'Just kidding!' But when nothing happened, she slumped back in the passenger seat and said, "They still aren't picking up at the station. I've called three times. Where the hell is everyone?"

Frustrated tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I could feel it. I was about to blow. I flipped open my phone and pressed "SEND" again. I'd tried calling Stiles' phone back twice since the call dropped but it was to no avail. Again, there came no answer; I slammed my phone shut and dropped it in the drink holder, banging my head against the steering wheel. When I did so, the horn accidentally honked and I was suddenly flooded with the memory of the first time Stiles and I tried to have sex in his Jeep. My elbow hit the horn then, too.

_Stiles. _

He was in trouble and it was apparently up to us to find him. Fishing my phone back out of the middle console, I dialed Mr. Stilinsky's number. His phone went straight to voicemail. "Shit." I turned in my seat and I pinned my best friend with an intense stare. "I know they've taken a few budget cuts at the station lately so there aren't as many officers on duty at night but if we go down there someone has to be there, right? I mean, they can't just close down the police station?"

"I'm almost definitely positive that's illegal."

I nodded sharply. "Okay, then." Throwing my car into reverse, I flipped out of the drive and headed south toward the station. "Keep calling," I told Livy. "Someone's bound to answer."

Olivia did as I asked and while she kept repeatedly trying to reach the police, I alternated between calling Stiles' and his father's phones. Neither of us received an answer.

It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach the station – and that was with running a red light and ignoring two stop signs. "Sam," Livy murmured. "That's Stiles' Jeep."

Sure enough, Stiles' baby blue Jeep sat in the station parking lot next to three patrol cars and – "Is that Ms. McCall's car?"

Livy and I shared a confused look. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Maybe this is just an extremely ridiculous prank," she grumbled, hand poised over the door handle, now hesitant to exit the car. I licked my lips, "If this is a prank, I'll kill them all."

Livy snorted. "I'll help."

We approached the front door of the station cautiously. To say that it was quiet would be a gross understatement. It was so quiet the entire scene had the distinct feeling of a slasher film and I continued to glance back at the parking lot waiting for the guy from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre to pop up and slaughter us.

"I'll let you go first," declared Olivia as we reached the door.

"Gee, what a friend you are."

"He's your boyfriend."

Rolling my eyes, I tried to ignore the sourness brewing in the pit of my stomach and pushed forward. Though the lights were on, there was no one at the front desk. I looked at the hanging sheet beside the door. One of the female deputies was on duty tonight. Peering down the hallway that led to the offices and the cells, I called out her name.

"Sam, I don't think anyone's here."

"It's the sheriff's station, Livy. Where else would they be?"

"Maybe they already know about Stiles and whatever the hell is going on. Maybe they're on their way to rescue him from whatever it is he needs rescuing from."

"Then why is his Jeep outside? And Scott's mom's car?"

"Because fuck me, that's why! None of this makes sense," she whined. I turned on her, my heart thudded in my chest, my stomach churning painfully, "Something's not right."

Olivia narrowed her gaze. "No shit."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, well, thank you, Captain Obvious. I think we realize something is seriously not right here. I just don't know what." Olivia approached the desk. She glanced around. "Shouldn't there be a bell or something?"

"This is a police station, Livy. Not a hotel."

"Well, still, I mean they should at least.." But Olivia fell silent as the lights suddenly went out. We tensed and Olivia growled, "Oh, hell no. This always happens in movies right before the shit hits the fan."

I swallowed and reached for her in the dark. "You're right. I don't think anyone's here. We shoul-"

I'd heard a gunshot a few times in my life. The first time I was fourteen when my grandfather took me and my cousin to a shooting range. The second time was at a distant relative's funeral; he'd been in the military and they performed a twenty-one gun salute. The third time we were at the school for parent-teacher night and Allison's father had shot the wild cougar that was running rampant in the parking lot. The fourth time was less than an hour ago when my boyfriend butt-dailed me while being attacked.

Four times I'd heard real gun fire, up close, loud, and not once had the shots been aimed at me.

But standing in the dark police station, grasping my best friend's arm, my boyfriend and the Beacon Hills police force M.I.A., I heard guns firing round after round relentlessly and it seemed like every single one of the bullets was coming for me.

"Livy!"

We dropped to the floor, our hands and knees brutally smacking into the tile. "Move!" We crawled along the floor, Olivia's terrified shrieks echoing off the tile, and tried to get around to the other side of the desk. There was something wet on the floor and I slipped as we finally rounded the desk. My face hit the tile and I felt a warm, gooey liquid seeping through my shirt and coating my fingers. "What the fuck?"

"This better not be a fucking prank," growled Olivia, her voice bordering on hysterical as we cowered behind the safety of the desk.

The gunshots continued for several long seconds. And each long second felt like an eternity. When the shooting finally drew to a stop, the last bits of glass from the doors and windows clattering to the floor, a yellow emergency light began to flicker. We were afraid to move, our bodies frozen in a terrified shock. I thought about trying to bolt back outside to my car but figured whoever was shooting was probably still out there. I glanced at Olivia. "You don't think they'll come in here, do you?"

"I think anyone crazy enough to shoot up a damn police station is liable to do anything and that we should get the hell out of here before we get shot…what's on your shirt?"

The emergency light provided little illumination but it was just enough for me to see the crimson liquid coating my clothes. "It was on the floor…" My eyes trailed behind to see red smears on the tile. Red smears that led to red pools. Red pools of blood. The female deputy's body layd in the corner behind the desk, her arms and legs limp, her chest still. "Oh my God…oh my-!"

Bile rose in the back of my throat. I was covered in the blood of a dead cop. "Fuck, get it off! Get it off!" I screamed, my hands frantically swiping at the blood covering my hands and arms and clothing.

"Sam, Sammy!" Olivia grabbed my shoulders. She forced me to look at her. "Sam, she was dead when we came in here. Someone's already been here and they killed her. Sam…we have to go. _Now._"

"Stiles-"

"We'll drive to the next county. Tell the cops there what happened, but, Sammy, we have to go."

"I won't-" There came some sudden deep shouts and our heads whipped toward the source of the noise. A few more shots fired and the sound of shattering echoed through the building. My brow furrowed. "They're fighting…"

"Yeah, the crazy asses. Now, let's go." Olivia pulled my arm, slowly rising to her feet and glancing over the desk top. But I resisted and tugged her back down, "They're _fighting_. If they're fighting, that means there is someone here left to fight them. Stiles is here, Sam. And probably his father, too. Maybe Scott's mom. But they're here."

"And you want to go save them? From the big bad people with the guns? In the dark? Covered in blood?"

I swallowed, my nerves damn near shot. "Essentially."

"You are the _worst_ best friend ever."

My frame was shaky as I rose to my feet. "I know. Stay low." We tiptoed down the hallway, inching along the wall, our breath coming in nervous gasps.

_Fuck, this isn't happening…_

"Take him! Go!"

Livy and I halted at the man's voice. A young man. My eyes widened. I nudged Livy's arm. "That was Derek Hale," I whispered. "When Stiles' butt-dialed earlier, he was with Derek. I'm right. He's here."

There came some shuffling down the hall and a few more gunshots. Livy shrieked and closed her eyes, head snapping back against the wall. "Oh, we're going to die. We're going to die for your fuck buddy."

"He's not my-"

"Woah, woah, woah!" another male voice rambled. A very familiar voice. My breath caught. _Stiles. _

I snatched at Olivia's wrist and took off down the hall toward what was quite possibly the best sound I'd ever heard. We rounded a corner just in time to see Scott and Stiles limping into an interrogation room, slamming the door behind them. My steps quickened, dragging Livy behind me. I darted into the side room after them.

Stiles was sitting the chair at the interrogation table, Scott hovering over him. "Don't move," Scott instructed. "…you know what I mean."

"Stiles!" I shrieked. "What the hell is going?"

Scott stood and spun on his heels. "Sam?!"

When Scott moved, Stiles' head went limp, falling against the back of the chair. My eyes widening, I moved to his side and stroked a hand over his short hair. "What's wrong? Why can't you hold up your head?"

"Sam," Stiles gasped.

"What are you two doing here?!" demanded Scott. "It's too dangerous. How'd you know-"

"Yeah, it's dangerous and we should be leaving now," Olivia interrupted the McCall boy. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Wait, is that blood?" asked Scott, stepping forward and gesturing at my shirt. Stiles face twitched, "Blood? Why are you covered in blood?! Sam, are y-"

"I'm fine. It's not mine. But Livy's right, we've got to get out of here."

Scott shook his head. "We can't! My mom's here. And Stiles' dad. We have to get them out."

"It's Matt," mumbled Stiles, his lips and eyes moving but his body limp. I knelt beside him, cradling his face in my hands, "What…why can't…?"

"Matt's the one killing everyone. He's here. He has a gun," he continued pitifully.

Livy groaned. "My God, this isn't happening. Look, can we please just get your parents and get out of here?"

"Stiles can't walk. If you guys can get him out, I'll get our parents," suggested Scott. To this, Livy cocked a brow and scoffed, "By yourself? In case you haven't noticed, McCall, it's like a freaking war zone out there."

"I'll be okay. Trust me."

"He's right, Sam," muttered Stiles. "He'll be fine. But you have to leave."

"Not without you," I insisted, squeezing his shoulder. Once again, my best friend gave an obnoxious scoff, "I'm about to leave without you _both._ Now, get your ass up, Stilinsky, and let's move!"

"He literally can_not_ walk," snapped Scott defensively, his shoulder growing tense. He took a step toward Livy, his lips parting to fire off some comment, but another round of gun fire commenced and he moved around her to the door. He cracked the door open a hair and muttered, "Get Stiles out," and disappeared.

"Olivia, help me," I demanded. Kneeling beside Stiles, I pulled his arm around my shoulders and motioned for her to do the same with his other arm. It took a wobbly moment but we were able to stand and bring Stiles to his feet. Livy growled, "Seriously, worst best friend _ever._"

"You can hate me later, Livy. Let's just get out of here alive."

"Sam," groaned Stiles, his head lulling forward. "I can't leave my dad."

"You can't even walk, Stiles, much less go rescue your father. Let McCall and Hale handle it," said Livy as we opened the door to the interrogation room. She poked her head out in the hall and not a second later did an arrow go flying by. She slammed the door with a squeal. "We need a new plan. One that preferably ends with us escaping alive."

We were silent as the sound of heavy footfalls passed. Then, we waited a moment before trying once again. This time the hall seemed relatively clear and we slowly creeped out. No sooner had we made it back to the front desk than Matt appeared, his face paler than normal, his eyes ablaze with panic. We stopped, Stiles muttering, "Son of a bitch," beneath his breath.

Matt lifted the gun held loosely in his grasp and smiled bitterly. "How sweet. Came to save your boyfriend, did you?"

"Matt, please don't do this," I pleaded, tears stinging my eyes as I starred at the gun helplessly. I could feel Stiles trembling against me. Or maybe his body was only trembling because Olivia and I were. Stiles managed to lifted his head, his face fierce and enraged, "I swear to God, you son of a bitch, if you hurt her I'll-"

"You'll what, Stiles? You'll sic Scott on me? O-or maybe Derek? Huh? Because, see," Matt waved the gun. "You're normal, Stiles. Abysmally, pathetically _normal_ and the only way you'd ever be able to avenge her death would be to have one of your wolf buddies do it for you."

"Matt," Olivia spoke. Her voice wavered with fear but her face was calm. "Do you remember sixth grade? Me, you, Sammy, Isaac, we were good friends. Do you remember that?"

"Of course, I remember!"

"Then, please, for the sake of what we used to have, don't do this. Just let us go. We've never done anything to you," begged Olivia.

Matt clenched his teeth, snorting. "You've never done anything to me? You were the only friends I had! And you left me! We went to high school and suddenly I no longer fit into the equation."

"It wasn't just you, Matt, it was Isaac, too," I mumbled. "And it wasn't intentional. We just grew up and grew apart. It happens. It's a part of life."

Another gunshot rang out causing Olivia to jump and scream. When she did so, the force of her movements sent Stiles spinning forward and I just barely caught him before he hit the floor. Tears leaked from my eyes, salt water streams pouring silently down my face. "Matt, please…"

Deep shouts rose somewhere in the back of the station and Matt glanced toward the door. He glared at us and spat, "Whatever," before turning and bolting outside. He was across the parking lot and gone before we could reach the door.

We took Stiles to his Jeep, managing to prop him up against the back, safely out of view from anywhere inside the station. I dug the keys from my pants pocket and passed them to Livy. "Here, take my care. Get out of here, Livy."

"What? Hell, no. I'm not leaving you, Sam."

"No, she's right," said Stiles. He was holding his head up, his feet and hands moving ever so slightly. Feeling was gradually returning to him. "Someone has to alert the other cops. Do you know where Grove Hill subdivision is?"

Livy nodded.

"Deputy Franks lives in Grove Hill. Take the first left once you enter the subdivision. It's the first house on the right. Look for his patrol car. Let him know what's happening and tell him to send everyone."

"What _is_ happening, Stilinsky?" my best friend asked.

Stiles shook his head. "Armageddon." He looked at me, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and touch me. "Go with her, Sam."

"No. I'm not leaving you."

"Well," argued Olivia. "I'm not leaving you. And he's not gonna leave his dad so…"

"Yes, you will leave me." I shoved her toward my car. "I love you, Livy. Go get us some help. I promise I'll be fine. I'm just going to stay here with Stiles until you get back, okay? Please, Livy, hurry."

Livy's brow furrowed in anger. She pulled me into a fierce huge, the blood on me smearing her, too. "I swear to God, if you let yourself get hurt…"

"I know. You, too."

Stiles and I watched Olivia dash for my car, slide behind the wheel, and peel off toward the highway, all from behind the safety of his Jeep. When she was gone, I laced my fingers through his and squeezed, "Are you okay?"

My boyfriend gradually brought his hand up to cup my face, the limb still stiff. "Are _you_ okay? Sammy, how did you find me?"

"I didn't. You found me. Or, well, your butt did. You butt-dialed me."

He frowned. "How did you know I was here?"

"We didn't know where you were. We tried calling the cops but no one answered. We went by your house to get your dad but he wasn't there. We didn't know what else to do so we figured if we couldn't reach the police by phone, we'd come tell them in person. We were hoping they could track your phone and find you but…low and behold, you were here."

The muscles in Stiles' jaw steeled. His eyes glazed over and he said, "Come here, Sam."

I did as he asked and pressed my body against his, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug. I buried my face against his flannel shirt, my heart finally calming down. His hands tangled in my hair and he spoke against my shoulder, his voice muffled, "I love you, Sammy. God, I love you so much. You're so brave."

"Brave? Stiles, I just wanted to find you. You're the brave one, battling a fucking serial killer. I can't believe it's been Matt this whole time…wait, Stiles, the other day after Lydia's party you said someone was controlling someone else and making them commit the murders. Is Matt being controlled?"

"No, he's doing the controlling."

I pulled back to look at him. "Who is he controlling?"

The doors of the station abruptly burst open and two figures came bounding on, one sprinting swiftly across the lot, the other running a few steps before stopping to shout, "Jackson!"

My gaze narrowed, as did Stiles'. "Derek?"

The second figure spun on us.

My stomach plummeted. "What the fuck?"

The figure hissed. "Shit, Stiles, what is she doing here?"

I blinked. Hard. But the scene before me wasn't changing. I was looking at Derek Hale. Formerly accused murderer. Orphan. Creepy ass. Derek Hale. Only, he sounded like Derek and, from what I'd seen, he had Derek's general build, but there was something wrong with his face. Something horribly wrong. His eyes were...well, glowing this brilliant, electric blue and, where his eyebrows should have been, two new muscles protruded over a long and wide nose. A nose like a dog's. When he spoke, he revealed matching pairs of canines, one set on top, the other on bottom.

"What the hell?" I gasped, taking a step back. Then, suddenly, Scott came hobbling through the front door of the station, Stiles' dad unconscious in his grasp. My gaze grew further. Scott's face was the same as Derek's, only his eyes glowed yellow and he still kind of looked like Scott.

Stiles stepped forward, as if to help his dad, but the feeling hadn't quite returned to his legs and he fell against the open Jeep door instead. "Sam…"

I shook my head, backing away, and that's when Scott looked up. He flashed his fangs. "Shit. Stiles!"

"What are you people?" I asked, the world around me beginning to spin. I looked desperately to my boyfriend. "Stiles are you…?"

Stiles clenched his jaw. He gave a slow shake of the head. "No…I'm just…me."

"And them?" I looked at Scott, a kid I'd known since elementary school, a kid I'd seen pick his boogers in third grade and squirt milk out his nose, a kid who'd been my boyfriend's best friend since before the dawn of time. And I looked at Derek, a man I barely knew, a man people accused of murder and arson before they realized Kate Argent was to blame, a man who had arguably just helped save my life and Stiles' and Livy's and Scott's. "What are you?"

Derek's lips pulled into a thin line.

It was Scott who eventually answered. His expression one of defeat, he glanced sorrowfully at Stiles', an apology, before speaking, his lips moving around his giant, canine teeth. "Werewolves."

**Author's Note: **

**This story was originally supposed to be only five chapters. However, I got such a positive response to the story that I decided to continue it on the premise that I was only going to update randomly with little pieces of the story that could be read like one-shots. That's why it's marked **_**Complete. **_**The status was changed after chapter five but I realize why that's so confusing, especially with such a huge cliff-hanger in the last chapter.**

**Do you guys think I should change the status to **_**In-Progress? **_

**p.s. REVIEW. You know you want to. Don't you? Don't you? …yeah, that's right. You do.**


	12. Chapter 12

**PART DOCE**

"Werewolves."

Hell of a word. Hell of a creature. Just…just hell.

The second the word passed Scott's lips a bitter taste consumed my mouth. What's the first stage of grief? Denial. I wanted to laugh in Scott's face – his distorted, hairy, canine face. But I couldn't because the truth of his words was right there. He was a werewolf. And so was Derek.

I was instantly overwhelmed, my mind spinning in a thousand different directions as I tried to recall hints or clues I'd received over the past several months. How could they have successfully hidden something so huge? How could this even be possible? Werewolves? They're supposed to be mythology. Nothing more. They weren't supposed to be teenagers that I'd gone to the movies with and shared nachos with and went to school with. They weren't supposed to stare at me with intensely yellow eyes, simultaneously animalistic and sensitive.

"This can't be happening…" I groaned, stepping away from them, my lips quivering as I spoke. "This isn't real."

"Sam…"

My gaze snapped toward Stiles. He'd finally regained feeling in his legs and stood, taking a half-step forward. His arms were tense at his side, stiff, as if he were restraining himself from reaching for me. I shook my head numbly. "No…just, just _no._"

Everything was so crazy that night.

Livy fetched Deputy Franks and a dozen or so police cruisers stormed the parking lot of the Police Department. The scene was searched, evidence was tagged, Scott's mom and Stiles' dad were examined in the back of an ambulance, statements were recorded, photos were taken, and the whole thing felt so official that I nearly choke, keeping myself from screaming out, "They're fucking werewolves! Why don't you catalog that for evidence?"

My parents were called. So were Livy's. We explained the situation exactly as it happened – the butt-dialing, going to the Stilinskys' house, then coming to the station. We told them everything. Minus the part where I saw Scott and Derek's alter egos as Teenage Mutant Ninja Wolves. Livy knew something was wrong the moment she arrived with the other deputies. The question was plan on her face but she knew I couldn't answer.

"You'll tell me later, right?" she whispered.

I nodded, "Yeah." Only I didn't know if I _could _tell her later. Why would I tell her this? Why would I share with her something I didn't want to know myself? Why would I give her this burden, too?

We were both grounded, Livy and I. Our parents did this awful group scolding thing, our mothers crying, our dads glowering, angry and yet horrified. We left the station after giving our final statements before I had the chance to speak to Stiles. Then again, I'm still not sure if I wanted to talk to him just yet.

My mom and dad took turns checking in on me every few hours that night. They used varying rouses – mom bringing me an extra blanket, dad offering a glass of water and some Tylenol. When morning finally came, I was thankful for the Tylenol, a killer headache brewing behind my eyes. I desperately hoped it had all just been some freakin' bizarre ass dream but one look at my phone (five missed calls and two texts from Stiles, one text from Scott) and I knew that, unfortunately, last night had been one hellacious dose of reality.

I cleared my missed calls and opened the text message from Scott.

_He didn't tell u because it was my secret to tell. Stiles loves u. He's never hurt anybody in his entire life. He was just trying to help. Please don't give up on him. Let him explain. _

I read the text three times before deleting it, too. Rolling over in my bed, I buried my face into my pillow and tried to get a grasp on what was happening. Fucking werewolves.

The second stage of grief? Anger.

For the next few days, I was angry at everyone and everything. I was angry with myself for not seeing it, for not being able to decipher the signs, for caring so much about Stiles and even Scott. I was angry with Livy for not leaving me alone when I told her I was fine, for being a good friend when I really just wanted to be left by myself. I was angry with my parents for their concern, for their hovering, for the quiet glances filled with worry that they shared. I was angry with Matt for causing that bullshit at the station in the first place. I was angry at Isaac for knowing about all of this mess and not telling me, despite our middle school friendship. I was angry at –

I was angry at Stiles. So, _so _angry.

I was angry at Stiles for lying to me. For hiding all of this from me. For being so loyal to Scott that he wouldn't come clean even though he knew it was tearing me apart. For making me love him enough to consider being okay with the fact that his best friend howls at the moon at night.

This brought me to the third stage of grief – bargaining.

"Okay…Scott is a…werewolf…" I said aloud while pacing the length of my bedroom, my door locked, my radio blaring Imagine Dragons. "The world isn't over. It just means that I can…can what? Can be fucking Velma to Stiles and Scott's Scooby and Shaggy? Dude, fuck me. Ugh."

I tried to argue that it wasn't so bad. That I could believethat this was really happening if it meant that everyone we knew and loved could be safe. That I could accept that Scott was a werewolf and that I'd been lied to if it meant that I could still have Stiles.

And when the bargaining didn't seem to work, I slipped into the fourth stage of grief. What was it, again, depression?

The tears didn't stop for hours. I curled up on my bed, hidden beneath my comforter and the Bat Girl blanket that had been a gift from Stiles, and cried until I had no tears left to shed. My eyes were red and puffy, my lips swollen, my nose runny. In short, I looked like a hot mess. I looked at my phone and checked the date and time. I hadn't seen Stiles in six days. Wiping my face on my tee shirt, I sat up and dialed a number my fingers knew from memory.

She answered on the second ring.

"Samantha, honey, why are you calling me?"

"Will you bring me some soup?"

"Are you calling me from your bedroom? Why didn't you just come downstairs?"

"My bed's really comfortable…" I mumbled.

My mom was quiet for a long moment. Then, "Tomato or chicken noodle?"

I almost smiled. "Tomato, please."

"I'll bring it up in a few minutes."

"Thanks, mom."

"Love you, honey."

"Love you, too."

I ate slowly, allowing the thick, warm tomato soup to coat my sore throat. It was very soothing and made me feel better more than it should have. After I ate, I called Taylor and asked him to come over.

My gay best friend arrived shortly after nightfall with a bag of candy in one hand, a stack of movies in the other. He gave me a long once-over when I answered the door, his lips curling slightly, his eyebrows rising. "You look like shit."

"I'm aware."

"Who died?"

I gave a droll stare. "That's not funny. At all."

"Why, because the death toll in this town has reached double digits?"

I blinked. "Um, yeah. That'd be why."

"Are you gonna let me in?"

I stepped aside and let the front door swing open. "Come in, asshole."

We holed up in my bedroom on the floor in front of my TV, our backs against my bed. Taylor brought me chocolate. I devoured the Hershey bars before the credits of _Mighty Ducks _started to roll. I gazed at the screen, my head cocking sideways. "You know…Coach Finstock kinda reminds me of Coach Bombay. Well, aside from that whole lawyer thing."

"Has he ever thrown eggs at the lacrosse team?"

"Dunno but I wouldn't be surprised."

Halfway through the movie, Taylor nudged my leg. I didn't say anything, nor did my gaze leave the television. But he persisted. Nudging me once more, he asked, "Are you going to tell me what's wrong? The last time you asked me to bring over _Mighty Ducks_, we were twelve and Rocky had just died."

I glanced at my dresser where a photo of my former best friend, a chocolate Labrador named Rocky, sat. Frowning, I focused my attention on the movie and grumbled, "I just haven't seen this movie in a while. It's a good movie, dude. Don't judge."

"No judgments. I fucking love the Ducks. But something's _wrong_, Sam. Liv says you guys haven't spoken in a week and you haven't been at school…don't even get me started on Stilinsky."

"What about Stiles?"

Taylor snorted. "The kid's a wreck, Sam. I mean, he's always been pretty friggin' odd, but he's turned into a hobo lately. Do you remember the summer after seventh grade when we took that trip to the beach and saw that homeless guy sleeping outside the hotel? That's how Stiles has been dressing and, judging by the absolutely _rank_ odor he's been radiating lately, he hasn't showered since that show-down at the station. You need to talk to the poor bastard."

I ignored the guilt pricking at the edge of my conscience. I was still too terrified, too confused, to talk to Stiles just yet. My gaze shifted from the television screen to my best friend. "You aren't going to ask about that night? …at the station, I mean."

Taylor shrugged, taking a sip of Coke and biting off a chunk of a Twizzler. He chewed with a deliberate slowness. "You'll tell me when you're ready."

The weight on my chest lifted, my body growing visibly lighter. I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Dude, I love you."

Taylor smirked. "Love you, too, Sammy. Now, shut up, Charlie's about to do his famous 'You're stuck with us' speech. Best part of the whole movie. You cry, Joshua Jackson. You cry like a champ!"

* * *

><p>"I can't believe I'm doing this," I murmured as Olivia pulled her car into the last available spot in the back parking lot of Beacon Hills High. The lot was packed, teenagers tailgating, red solo cups in every adolescent's hand, a grilled hot dog or hamburger in the other. Smoke lifted from the small, portable grills above the rows of cars and trucks, plumes scattering the velvet night sky. It was the first time I'd been at school since the incident at the police station twelve days ago. I'd missed over a week of classes. Principal Argent, Allison's grandfather, had excused Olivia, Stiles, Scott, and me from school for two weeks; I believe he called it "recovery time."<p>

Apparently, the others had returned last week. I was the only one still playing hooky.

"At least you're here. It's all he can ask," replied Olivia with a sympathetic smile. She still had no idea why I was so out of it. Sure, she was more than rattled about what happened but she'd began to move on, to cope; she had no idea that there were pieces of the puzzle that she was still missing.

"He can ask me to not be a coward," I grumbled under my breath. Because being a coward was exactly what I was doing. The first time in two weeks that I'd be seeing my boyfriend and I was putting a crowd of screaming lacrosse fans between us – a safety barrier. Growling in frustration, I threw open her car door and spat, "Whatever. C'mon. Let's go find seats before I change my mind. We're like, twenty minutes late as it is…"

The bleachers were littered with familiar faces, none more welcoming than the recently reinstated Sheriff himself. When my estranged boyfriend's father saw me, he gave a tight but sincere smile and scooted just so to the left, closer to Scott's mom, who I noted was also in attendance; his gesture was an invitation, a kind one. The Sheriff was no idle bystander in mine and Stiles' relationship. He knew exactly how I'd been treating his son lately and didn't seem to hold it against me.

Again the familiar sensation of guilt began to consume me. Clenching my teeth, I pulled on Livy's hand. "Over here."

Sheriff Stilinksy and Melissa McCall greeted us with warm smiles as we joined them on the bleachers. Beside them, Lydia Martin offered a timid grin. My chest tightened. I returned her grin painfully. If anyone knew what I was going through, it was probably Lydia. She had her naked nature hike, now it was my turn to play the town crazy.

Honestly, there must be something in the water here…

"Girls," the Sheriff nodded. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Me, too," I replied. My gaze drifted over the field as I desperately tried _not_ to look at the benches on the side line. But, unfortunately, I did anyway. Two familiar heads loomed closely together, concocting up some scheme or another; one of those dark heads belong to Scott, but the other did not belong to Stiles – it belonged to Isaac. My brow furrowed. Why wasn't Scott in the goal? And why was Stiles not on the bench? And since when were Isaac and Scott buddy-buddy?

I thought briefly back to the night at the warehouse, the night of the rave when the Sheriff lost his job and Stiles ditched me for the millionth time. Isaac was there, with that girl Erica, and Jackson. I thought of what he'd said on the dance floor.

_"You shouldn't be here. You should go." He slid passed me but I snatched him back. He sighed, sliding easily out of my grip, "Please, just leave. It's not safe here."_

_"What's happening?"_

_"I can't tell you."_

_I snorted. "Seems I'm hearing that a lot lately. You're working with Stiles, aren't you? And Derek and Scott?"_

_Isaac lowered his head shamefully. He peered back at Jackson and the girl. "We're trying to help save people, Samantha. I know you can't understand-"_

_"I can't understand," I snapped, stepping closer. "Because no one will tell me anything!" I stared up into his wide gaze. "Isaac, please, please tell me."_

_"I'm sorry, I can't," he tore away. Suddenly, his gaze hardened and a snarl bubbled in his throat. "I have to go. Leave__. Now."_

"He's one of them…" I whispered to myself. Olivia glanced at me, then at the field, then back at me, "Who's one of who…?"

"Um," I swallowed, blinking. "Nothing…is that…?" A red and white blur was scurrying across the field, his lacrosse stick wavering in his grasp, his head whipping this way and that. The number twenty-four was plastered proudly on his jersey. My jaw literally dropped. "Why is Stiles on the field?!"

"What?" snickered Livy.

The Sheriff beamed. He pointed to Stiles. "My son is on the field…because he's on the team!"

"Yes, your son is on the team," Scott's mom chimed in. "I think we have established that."

"But why is he on the field?" I repeated myself, eyes wide with sheer disbelief. Melissa McCall scoffed. She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing around her heart-shaped face, "Honestly, you people are so unsupportive."

"You've obviously never seen Stilinsky play," muttered Livy. She blushed when the Sheriff peered her way. "Um, sorry. No offense. He just…um, he's a work in progress?"

"He's not the best but-" The Sheriff's words broke off as Stiles caught the ball. My shoulder's perked, my heart beginning to race hopefully but before Stiles could move, he was tackled to the grass. "Ouch."

I nodded, "That's definitely going to bruise."

The score board showed just over two minutes left in the first quarter and already the other team was ahead by a couple of points. Three quarters and several player-injuries later (one of which included Isaac getting escorted off the field on a gurney), we were still down by two points with the score seven-nine. There were five minutes left on the clock, the bright red numbers ticking away. If we didn't do something soon, we could kiss the championship goodbye.

Then, something wonderful happened.

There was confusion on the field after an unsuccessful trick-play by the other team. They couldn't find the ball. And then suddenly there was Stiles – and he was running. The Sheriff put his elbows on his knees, bringing his face to his hands. He shielded his gaze, fingers cupped around his eyes, like he was watching a horror flick. "Oh, crap."

Stiles' feet froze as he reached the opposing team's goal. He glanced back at the sidelines where his coach stood, unsure. "Stilinksy!" Finstock yelled. "Shoot it! Shoot –the—ball!" But still, Stiles was frozen, his lacrosse stick unmoving in his grasp, the ball nestled snuggly in the net. "Shoot it, you idiot!"

"Shoot it!" Lydia shrieked beside us. I smirked at Olivia; Lydia always was so concerned about our school's lacrosse reputation. We'd assumed it was because of Jackson, thinking she'd wanted to show support when her boyfriend was captain of the lacrosse team, but apparently she was simply a fan of the sport.

Taking Lydia's lead, Olivia and I stood and shouted together, "Stiles, shoot it!"

The lacrosse stick twitched, his helmet swiveling to the stands where we stood. I smiled at him, a soft laugh escaping me, "Shoot the ball, Stilinsky!"

And finally, with an almost slow-motion like grace, his body twisted, his lacrosse stick snapping forward, and the ball soared, flying straight over the goalie's glove and into the net.

A buzzer sounded, the number seven on the score board flipped to an eight, Finstock screamed, the Sheriff rose to his feet with a proud yelp, and the citizens of Beacon Hills were overjoyed.

On the field, the players with red jerseys swarmed Stiles. Cheers rose in the night air as they clapped their teammate on the back. Stiles thrust his hands into the air and waved his lacrosse stick like a trophy. "I scored a goal!"

I reclaimed my seat on the bleachers, my lips spreading in a smile, and shook my head softly. "This kid," I mumbled. Beside Scott's mom, Lydia turned to glance at me. I caught her gaze and she offered a small smirk. Not only was it my turn to be the town crazy, but now it was my turn to be the lacrosse player's smug girlfriend.

The hands on the clock continued to spin down and somehow Stiles got the ball and scored _again. _And again. And _again._ Not only had Stiles managed to tie up the game, but with thirty seconds left on the clock he'd managed to score the winning goal. And the crowd went crazy. We'd won the championship, all because of my bench-warmer boyfriend.

"Yes!" Lydia beamed, clapping her hands together as Scott's mom and Stiles' dad shared a proud-parent hug. I hugged my best friend as Olivia gave a scream of victory, "We won!"

Drawing away from Livy's embrace, I looked to the field just in time to catch Stiles' gaze and see his brilliant, white smile before the stadium lights went out. Olivia's arm tensed around mine, her fingers curling around my wrist. "What the-"

A woman's ear splitting scream pierced the air.

"Girls, stay here," the Sheriff instructed as the world began to shuffle around us. I reached out, searching for Lydia in the dark, "Martin, get over here."

We sat down so we wouldn't fall down the bleachers, bodies bumping into us left and right, as the Sheriff disappeared along with Nurse McCall. "What's happening?" Lydia whispered, her frame shaking slightly as her body pressed against my shoulder. I shook my head numbly, my insides filled with dread, "I don't know."

More screams rose and there was some commotion coming from the field. Everywhere was panic and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing desperately for it to all go away. Why did this keep happening? What was going on? Who was going to be hurt this time?

"I think a player's down on the field," declared Olivia, her eyes scanning the darkness around us. "I think I see a huddle."

"Stiles," I whispered. Lydia echoing with, "Jackson."

Then, the stadium lights resumed working one by one and we blinked under the sudden harsh light. Indeed, there was a huddle on the field, Coach Finstock storming toward the group of teenage boys, "Out of the way!"

We stood instantly, carefully making our way down the bleachers. "Who is it?" I asked. Lydia was in front of me and as she reached the final step of the bleachers, her walk slowed and she almost tripped. My heart thumped painfully. Lydia groaned, "Jackson…"

She stumbled forward, Olivia and I reaching out to steady her but she tore away. "Jackson! What's happening?! Jackson!" She took off for the huddle, screaming as she breached the circle of players, Olivia and I only a step behind. "What's happening?!"

Coach Finstock was shouting for the paramedics but his cries were lost in the pure chaos around us. Suddenly, Scott's mom broke through the huddle and dropped to her knees beside Jackson's limp body. She pressed her ear to his chest, her hand simultaneously reaching for his wrist. "He's not breathing…no pulse…" She lifted his shirt and revealed several gashes across his lower stomach.

Lydia shrieked and flinched. "That's blood? That's blood!"

"Oh my God," I gasped, my hand entwining with Livy's. My best friend looked at me, terrified. We clung to one another as Nurse McCall began chest compressions, ordering for Lydia to kneel and cradle Jackson's head to better allow air into his lungs. That was when I spotted Scott and Isaac lingering on the edge of the circle across from us. I looked to their right and left but saw no sign of Stiles. My eyes scanned the lacrosse players surrounding us.

I squeezed Livy's hand. "Where's Stiles?"

I backed away from the huddle and took a quick survey of the rest of the field. There were a few civilizations loitering here and there in groups of three or more, a cluster of them by the main exit and at the edge of the parking lot. But I didn't see Stiles among them.

And apparently I wasn't the only one looking. Across the field the Sheriff stood, his head whipping around in all directions. I detangled from Livy and jogged over to him. He was muttering to himself, "Where's Stiles? Where's…where's Stiles? Where's my son?"

"Sheriff Stilinsky?" I called softly.

The Sheriff met my gaze just seconds before he shouted, "Where the hell is my son?!"

Stiles was missing.

* * *

><p><strong>An update from France! (Did I tell you guys I was studying in Paris this summer?) <strong>

**I think updating abroad deserves some reviews; what about you guys? Let me know what you think!**

**p.s. This season is craaaaazy! Ohmygoodness! What do you guys think about the Alpha pack? And Cora? **


	13. Chapter 13

**This season killed me. It's **_**still **_**killing me. So much to digest!**

**I hate where they are going with the Allison/Isaac mess. That's so not cool. Hey, Isaac, ever heard of the Bro Code?! You cannot get with your friend's ex, especially when that friend took in your orphan, hobo self. Get with it, dude. **

**Anyway, a major you-guys-are-awesome-and-I'm-so-glad-you-like-this -story thank you to the following: **Hunger694, GirlWithAWritersSoul, CuteSango07, BananasGoneCrazy72, Dawnie-7, Black Bart Lady, Bella, andreams512, **and, of course, all of you lovely **Guest **reviewers. Thanks a million for your kind words! I hope the story continues to please!**

**PART TRECE**

"He's not here. I checked with two nurses in the ER and had one of them call the hospital in Vickersburg. No one matching Stiles' description has been admitted in the last two hours."

The sheriff sighed. "Thank you, Samantha. Just…um…why don't you just, uh, go home and if he calls you or-"

"I'll let you know right away," I replied immediately. "Please do the same if you hear anything."

Sheriff Stilinsky cleared his throat and murmured, "Will do," before the line went dead. Sliding my phone closed, I glanced around the ER waiting area, consumed with dread. Where the hell was Stiles?

A young mother sat in the corner with her son, a small boy who was doubled over, his face scrunched in pain. The mother was running her fingers through the boy's dull yellow curls and whispering soothingly in his ear. Suddenly, the little boy lurched, sitting upright in his mother's lap, and I saw the familiar logo on his black tee-shirt.

It was the Batman symbol.

My stomach sank at the ironic reminder. C'mon universe, rub more salt on my open wound, won't ya?

I didn't find Stiles at the hospital, but I wasn't going to find him at home, either. Heading to the elevator, I ran through a mental list of every place I thought might hold special meaning for Stiles reasoning that maybe the attention from the game freaked him out and he'd just needed some space. But then, why was his Jeep still in the parking lot at Beacon Hills High?

A ding chimed and the elevator doors opened. Two minutes later I was trekking across the hospital parking lot when I heard them. Their voices were low, panicked, and…_familiar. _Rounding a mini-van, I came face-to-face with Scott and Isaac and, man, did they look suspicious. "Is that…?" I gasped, numbly starring at the full body bag swinging in their grasp. "Please tell me that's not-"

"No! No!" Scott hurriedly shook his head. "It's not Stiles."

In a strange moment, my heart leapt and simultaneously sank. Overjoyed that it wasn't Stiles but horrified at the idea that it was a _someone_, a _dead _someone, they were carrying, I cringed. "Dare I ask who's in the bag, then?"

"It's Jackson," replied Isaac calmly.

"Oh, okay," I scoffed.

Scott glanced between Isaac and I, unsure and twitchy. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for Stiles. What else? What're _you_ two doing here?"

"It's complicated," murmured Scott. My eyes narrowed, "Complicated as in your best friend is missing and instead of trying to find him you're busying carting around corpses? Or did you forget that Stiles is M.I.A.?"

To his credit, McCall had the decency to look both worried and ashamed. However, before he could speak, Isaac rose to his new friend's defense, "Look, we're going to find Stiles but we have to get Jackson out of here first. Before he-"

"Before what?! His zombie kills us all?!" I scoffed in disgust. Some friends they were, messing around with dead bodies rather than searching for Stiles.

"Yes," they chimed.

And, in a moment so perfect they couldn't have planned it better if they tried, the body bag jerked.

"_Shit!" _

"What the hell was that?!" I shrieked, jumping back. When the bag wrenched, Isaac nearly lost his grip, the bag flailing in his hands. As they fought for control, Scott glanced at me over his shoulder. His face was one of empathy. "I'll find him, Sam. I promise. But right now I've got to keep as many people safe as I can and that means getting Jackson out of here."

I nodded slowly, my mind and body fogging over. "Does this, I mean, obviously this all has something to do with the other stuff, right? You're, um, you know, furry little problem?"

Isaac scoffed, his brow furrowing in offense, and Scott replied, "Honestly, yes. I think it does."

My hope diminishing faster by the second, I shrugged pathetically. "Okay."

"Okay?"

I shot Scott a sad smile. "Okay…good luck, boys. Let me know if you find Stiles." Turning on my heel, I headed once again for Livy's car and just as I reached for the handle of the passenger door there came a shout. It was Scott and he was calling my name.

"Yeah?"

Scott peered at me, his expression soft but serious. "Stay safe."

* * *

><p>We drove around aimlessly for almost an hour, Olivia driving because my nerves were too on edge. We checked every place we could think of – his favorite Mexican place, the arcade, the movie theatre, the hotdog stand that serves his favorite chili cheese fries <em>by <em>the movie theatre, the comic book store – but our efforts were useless. Stiles was nowhere to be found.

Then, just as tears of frustration began to swell in my eyes, I slapped Livy's arm. "Take me to his house!"

"Ow! What?"

"His subdivision. Go! Now!"

I made my best friend drop me off at the Stilinsky home. From there, I made the long walk to the back of the neighborhood, down the dirt road, to the hidden pond where I stood – alone. Stiles wasn't here, either. The idyllic pond was the picture of serenity. The surface of the water was clear, the moonlight dancing across the water, and crickets were chirping a quiet, summer melody. The scene couldn't have been more beautiful, or romantic.

In a sudden, unbearable rush of emotion, I fell to my knees in the grass.

_This isn't happening. This _can't _be happening_. I had just come to terms with everything, with the lies and the werewolves. I was finally ready to forgive Stiles – and now he was gone. Taken.

Collapsed on the edge of the pond, I cried. Sobbed, actually, with only the lily pads and bullfrogs for comfort.

"_-waiting on this for a while now, paying my dues to the dirt. I've been waiting to smile, 'ay. Been holding it in for a while, 'ay. Take you with me if I can, been dreaming of this since a child. And I know it's hard when you're falling down and it's a long way up when you hit the ground. Get up now, get up, get up no-"_

Sniffling, I fished my phone from my pocket and hurried to slide it open. "Hello?"

"Samantha?"

My ears instantly perked. It was the Stilinsky patriarch. "Sheriff Stilinsky."

"He's here, Sam. He's home. Stiles is home."

Every breath of air within me burst out in a single gasp of relief. "Oh, thank God." I clasped my hand to my chest, as if somehow that would calm my frantically beating heart, and cleared my throat. "I'll be there in a moment."

"See you then."

My legs couldn't work fast enough. It was like no matter how hard I tried they simply wouldn't move fast enough. My mind was racing just as intensely as my body was. I had a million questions and the longer I ran the more questions I thought of: who had taken him? Why? What did they want? What did this have to do with the werewolves? Was Derek involved? Did it have anything to do with the whole Matt controlling Godzilla-Jackson thing?

By the time I reached the front door of the Stilinsky's, my heart was about to explode. My lungs, too. And my legs ached so badly that I nearly collapsed when I finally stopped running. I didn't bother knocking. Instead, I threw open the door and called out, "Stiles? Sheriff Stilinsky?"

The sheriff was in the kitchen and, when he caught sight of me, his face crumbled. "Oh, sweetheart."

"Is he okay? He's not hurt, right? Wh-what happened? Where was he?"

Sheriff Stilinsky pulled me into his arms. "He's okay," the sheriff assured me. "Why don't I let him tell you himself? He's upstairs in his room."

Nodding furiously, I wiped my face, which was no doubt covered in mascara and tears, and thanked the kind, older man. He offered me a sad smile and I was abruptly struck with the image of the sheriff on the lacrosse field the moment he realized Stiles was missing. I could still see the adrenaline in his features, the terror behind his eyes. If I felt as awful as I did, I couldn't imagine what he must've felt. What he must've gone through in these last five hours.

Before I moved down the hall to the stairs, I pulled the sheriff into another hug. I squeezed as tight as I could, thankful that Stiles had a father like him. "Are you alright?"

Sheriff Stilinsky took a deep breath. He gave a stiff nod and pulled back. "The jury's still out on that one."

I took the stairs two at a time. His bedroom door was open and the first thing I saw was his back. There were no visual signs of injury, no blood, or twisted, broken limbs. "Oh, my God, Stiles."

He turned and I threw myself at him, embracing him in what was quite possibly the tightest hug I'd ever given. My arms wound around his neck and I buried my face in his chest. He was solid and strong beneath my touch. He was here, he was real, he was safe. "Fuck, Stiles, I was so worried," I groaned into his gray tee shirt. "I'm so sorry. Stiles, I am so, _so-_"

"Don't be. Why are you sorry? Sam, I-" Stiles drew back a hair, his arms still firmly around my waist, and I tilted my face towards his, finally looking at him, and what I saw made me gasp. The entire right side of his face was bruised and busted, the skin various shades of pink, purple, and blue. A muscled in his jaw ticked. He blinked, slowly, and swallowed. "Sammy, it's-"

"Baby, what happened?" I breathed, my fingers hesitantly reaching for his discolored cheek. I ran the tips of my fingers across his skin as gingerly as I could. Stiles shivered at the gentle caress and I stopped, my hand curling into his shirt. "Stiles…"

His eyes moved to my mouth and, in return, mine moved to his. His bottom lip was split on the right side, a nasty, red gash. "It's not as bad as it looks," he mumbled, before dipping his head to kiss me. My lips parted, my stomach fluttering, but I didn't move. I let him kiss me, afraid that if I applied any pressure, I'd hurt him.

I reached around to cradle his head, stroking my fingers through his short hair. He kissed me slowly, tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my chin. "God, I missed you, Sammy."

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I never should've ignored you. None of this is your fault. I was just mad and scared and pissed off at you for lying to me. But I wouldn't have believed you if you told me. And, anyway, Scott told me that you wanted to tell me everything but he wouldn't let you. I get it, I just…God, I can't believe-"

"I love you," Stiles blurted. "Please, shut up. The more you speak, the more guilt I feel because every word out of your mouth makes me realize how ridiculously lucky I am. You have no idea how amazing it is that you can be okay with all of this. That _you_ feel like you need to apologize to _me. _Sam, I'm the one that owes the apology. A ton of them, actually. A butt load of apologies."

I gave a breathy laugh. "When you disappeared tonight…Stiles, it was awful. I was terrified."

"I know," he murmured. His jaw clenched and Stiles kissed my forehead, pulling me against him. "I know. I'm so sorry."

"What happened, Stiles?"

I felt him sigh. He was quiet for a moment. Then, he slowly detangled from me and moved to shut his bedroom door. He motioned for me to take a seat on his bed and I did so, curling up with my back to the headboard. Stiles sat beside me, his arms tucking me against his chest, his face pressed to my hair. He said lowly, "I told my dad it was some kids from the other team. That they'd gotten jealous and that I'd been mouthing off and, you know, shit got violent but, um…"

"But it wasn't the other team. It had something to do with all of this."

Stiles nodded in agreement. "It was Gerard."

I think my heart literally stopped. "Gerard? Gerard _Argent_? As in our principal, Allison's grandfather, Gerard?"

"Yeah," he admitted dejectedly. My jaw dropping, I exclaimed, "What the fuck?"

"He's a hunter. Her whole family is. They hunt werewolves and kanimas and-"

"Kanimas?"

"That thing Jackson becomes. Anyway, um, Gerard is controlling Jackson, now, since Matt's dead. We don't know how he gained control. We just know he wants to use Jackson to kill Derek because Derek's dead uncle killed his daughter, Allison's aunt, Kate."

"Wait, Derek's zombie uncle killed-"

"No, Derek's uncle killed Kate and then me, Scott, Allison, Jackson, and Allison's dad set the uncle on fire before Derek slashed his throat and killed him. It's…complicated."

"No shit," I gasped. My brain spinning, I took Stiles' hand in mine and laced our fingers together. Tracing circles on the back of his palm, I tried to make sense of everything. "Derek's uncle killed Allison's aunt -whose funeral we went to, by the way; god, this is so messed up – then, you guys killed Derek's murdering uncle, but now Allison's grandfather wants to kill Derek out of revenge? That doesn't make sense. Derek didn't kill Kate Argent so why does-"

"Because he's a psychopath bent on destroying everything in his path," Stiles spat bitterly.

I glanced at him, my eyes drawing to the sunrise across the right side of his face. "Why did he do that to you?" I whispered.

"Because he wants Scott to help him capture Derek. He's going after the people Scott loves, trying to intimidate and manipulate him. Two days ago he sent Jackson after Scott's mom. He almost strangled her."

"Oh, my God."

"Tell me about it." Stiles licked his lips, barely hiding the wince when his tongue swiped the cut on his bottom lip. "This wasn't meant to hurt me. It was meant to threaten Scott. Gerard's a bully…guess high school never really ends after all."

"You know you're going to have to explain all of this to me, right? How Scott and Isaac and all of them became werewolves and just what exactly the hell has been going on all this time and just what it is that the Argents do when they 'hunt.' It doesn't have to be tomorrow, or even this week, just, like, eventually."

Stiles sighed. "I know."

"Does it hurt very much?" I asked. My gaze drifted over his injury.

"Nah," he shook his head nonchalantly. "It's almost like it never happened."

My lips twisted in a sad smile. "Almost," I whispered. And then I kissed his nose, because I was afraid to kiss his wounded mouth. And I kissed his good cheek and, when he closed his eyes, I ghosted kisses across his eyelids. Then my lips moved south and I kissed along his jawline, trailing a path of kisses down his neck, and stopping to pepper his collarbone with little kisses and nips.

His arms tightened around my waist as I carried on with my kisses. One of his hands climbed up my back to weave through my hair with such a torturously slow pace that bumps rose on my skin. His fingertips danced across my back, teasing.

I wrapped my arms around him as we settled into the pillows and navy comforter on his bed. As I tucked my head into his shoulder I caught a faint whiff of vanilla. He smelled like vanilla the first night I kissed him, too – that sweet, feels-like-home scent. "Your body wash," I began curiously. "-is it vanilla scented?"

"Yeah. It's, uh, it's actually women's body wash," he admitted. Crimson flushed his cheeks. Shrugging, he gave a half-smile and explained, "It was my mom's favorite before she died. When I was little and she still used to give me baths, she would bathe me with it and afterward when she'd wrap me in my towel she would just hold me for hours, saying I smelled too good for her to let go."

I smiled softly at my boyfriend. I loved hearing Stiles talk about his mother. The way he spoke about her, it was like listening to babies laugh; it was pure love. "Do you think she would mind if I took a turn and held you for a few hours?"

Stiles studied me silently for a brief moment. "I don't think she'd mind at all."

**Review, please! You know you want to. But, more importantly, **Stiles and Scott **want you to! **


	14. Chapter 14

**PART CATORCE**

The first official day of summer break had finally arrived and things were finally looking up for everyone – well, everyone but Scott. And Lydia. But, let's be honest, I kinda hate Lydia, don't I?

After we won the Lacrosse State Championship game and Stiles was kidnapped by Allison's psycho grandpa, things got really weird for a few days. Scott, Isaac, Derek, Allison's dad, and Peter, Derek's zombie-werewolf uncle who quite literally rose from the grave, were able to somehow kill the evil lizard side of Jackson. With Stiles' and Lydia's help, of course. Instead of dying, Jackson finally achieved his goal of turning into a werewolf, which I later learned was what started that whole mess in the first place. Life's really a bitch in the way; because he's such an asshole, rather than wolfing out when he got bit, Whittemore turned into a mini-godzilla, slaughtered nearly a dozen people, and _still _got his way. _Not. Fair. _

And Jackson's only punishment was that he was going to have to spend the summer learning how to control his inner-wolf with Derek before he and his family moved to England. Needless to say, Lydia was devastated. Needless to say, the rest of us were devastated that he wasn't leaving sooner.

Gerard Argent no longer posed an eminent threat. He was gradually slipping away into the cold clutches of death – a combination of cancer and some kind of supernatural poisoning courteous of Scott. Though he was restricted to a wheelchair and being carefully monitored by Allison's father, Scott and Stiles weren't ready to dismiss Gerard entirely. They agreed to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity from the old man.

It took a while for things to calm down after the game. Once they did, Stiles finally grew a pair and sat me down to confess everything. And I do mean everything. We spent an entire weekend bouncing between his house, mine, and Scott's while he explained. Talk about taking forever to tell a story.

"So what you're saying is, and correct me if I'm getting this wrong but-" I mused when Stiles' epic tale drew to a close. "-is that none of this would've happened if you hadn't been eavesdropping on your dad's police radio?"

Stiles frowned. "Well when you put it like that…"

"At least you haven't shot or stabbed anyone," I pointed out, reflecting on the revelation that Allison was in training to become the next Buffy and that her family originated from the land of Crazyville – aside from her father, the only Argent left standing who seemed to possess some sort of morals. This brings us back to why, when the glorious summer break reared its beautiful head, Scott was not a perky puppy.

It's simple: Allison dumped him.

"He's not doing so hot considering that he's 'cool with it'," I muttered to Stiles, quoting the very words his best friend had uttered just hours after Allison called it off. We were gazing at Scott from the doorway of the McCall living room. The teenager was slumped over, half-hidden in the deep recesses of his couch, his basketball shorts and tee shirt three days old and covered in ketchup stains. My nose wrinkled. "Seriously, when was the last time he showered?"

"My guess?" Stiles shrugged. "Last Tuesday."

"That's…that's _not_ sanitary. Anyway, um, hey Scott!"

"Muuhhhh."

Eyebrow raised, I glanced at Stiles. "What is he, a mummy?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and lazily walked over to the couch, dropping down beside his best friend. He lightly shook Scott's knee. "Heyyyy, buddy. You doin' okay?"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, it's me. Stiles."

"Oh for the love of-" I scoffed. "Dude, he's heartbroken, not in a coma. Scott, get up! Get! _Up! Now. _Go shower. We're going to the beach. For a week."

Scott barely flinched. Blinking slowly, he peered up at me with those big, dopey brown eyes. "What?"

I poked Stiles in the shoulder. "Go pack his bag. I'll get him in the shower."

Stiles scoffed. "Um-"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. I'll get him _to _the shower. Better?"

Forty five minutes and a few not-so-friendly slaps later and all we'd managed to do was successfully get Scott off the couch. It wasn't until Mrs. McCall came home and threatened to kick Scott out of the house for a month if he didn't go to the beach with us that we actually got some results. Stiles shook his head in disbelief as he watched his bestie throw random belongings in an empty lacrosse bag. "How come my dad never threatens me that way?"

I rolled my eyes as Scott's movements suddenly halted. "Wait. How're we staying at the beach for _a week_? I don't have money for a hotel room for that long-"

"We have a house," I explained. "A beach house. Olivia's uncle owns it but her cousin lives there. Only, her cousin's in Michigan this week visiting friends from college and that nice, big beach house is all empty."

"All you need is money for food and we're splitting gas," added Stiles. Yet still, his friend looked reluctant. Stiles groaned and playfully punched his best friend in the shoulder. "C'mon! Dude, you gotta get outta this funk. And what better place to do that than the beach? We even got Isaac to agree to come."

Scott glanced up in disbelief. "Really?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah…that was fun."

_Two Days Earlier:_

"No."

"But you haven't even-"

"No."

"Aww, dude, come _on_."

Isaac turned to Stiles, his eyes flashing yellow, and asked, his voice barely more than a growl, "Do I need to make myself more clear, Stilinsky?"

"Oh, whatever," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Isaac was one of the first friends I made when I moved to Beacon Hills. Me and Liv used to practically live at Isaac's house before his brother died. I'd seen this kid dance on a pool table with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle underwear on his head. Werewolf or not, Isaac simply was not a badass. "Derek's a bad influence on you. Quit with the menacing growls, which aren't that menacing by the way, and start packing. We're leaving Saturday."

"And just why would I want to spend a week at the beach with a bunch of guys and only two girls, both of whom are already dating someone else?"

Stiles snorted. "Did you hear yourself? _At the beach._"

"Besides, it's a week hanging out with your friends. No crazy Beacon Hills bullshit, no one trying to kill you, and-"

"No Jackson," smirked Stiles.

That got Isaac's attention.

Ever since Jackson had started training with Derek he'd been up Isaac's ass. Jackson wanted someone to practice with, someone to fight. He wanted to know how Isaac controlled his wolf during a full moon and what the pull of the moon felt like. And he was driving Isaac insane.

Lahey sighed. "Fine. But I want my own room."

"Not gonna happen." My boyfriend clapped a hand on Isaac's back. Eyebrow raised, Isaac silently stared at the quirky teenage boy. Stiles blinked. "What? Uh-_oh._ Yeah, the hand. Man, you werewolves really don't like being touched."

I smiled at Isaac. "You'll be glad you came…trust me."

_Present:_

"So whatta ya say, Scott? You ready for a week of nothing but sand and surf and your best friends?" asked Stiles.

Scott pulled a face and a small laugh escaped me. "Not really," he mumbled, looking like he was about to go to the dentist, not to one of sunny California's best beaches.

Stiles nodded sympathetically. "Though shit. Get in the Jeep."

* * *

><p>The drive to the beach was supposed to be two and a half hours long. We took Damien's mom's SUV, the one with three rows of seating. Damien drove with Livy in the passenger seat beside him. Stiles, Scott, and I occupied the middle row, and Isaac and Taylor took the back seat, our bags squished between and behind them. While we weren't exactly cramped, there wasn't much leg room and we ended up making pit stops every forty miles to let the boys stretch their legs. Between that and Olivia's five million bathroom stops, that two and a half hour drive turned into four.<p>

By the time we pulled onto the beachfront boulevard where we'd be staying, the sun was fading over the ocean.

"Hey, look," Stiles mumbled. Our eyes turned to look out the window. There was a little seaside shack with a chalkboard on the patio advertising by-one-get-one shrimp platters. Olivia shrugged her shoulders, "Maybe we can grab dinner there."

"I'm always down for some shrimp," I replied.

"I'm thinking more like lobster," muttered Damien. "Little bit of lemon juice and so-"

There came a sudden _pop! _and, what sounded like, the air gushing out of a balloon.

"Son of a bitch," Isaac hissed. I turned in my seat to look at him, "What? Did we run over something?"

"It's a flat tire," answered Scott. In the front seat, Damien shook his head. "No way. We probably just-"

"I'd trust Scott on this one," I told him. "He's got some pretty good hearing."

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Scott toss Isaac and Stiles a cocky grin and suddenly we were pulling over on the side of the road. We piled out of the SUV and, sure enough, were greeted with a flat tire. I groaned, falling against Livy's side. "This isn't happening."

"Do you have a spare?" asked Scott.

"This is _not_ happening," I repeated myself.

"Does anyone know how to change a tire?" asked Isaac. The other boys looked at him inquisitively and he backed up a hair, "I'm just saying. I change tires on a bike, okay? Not a car."

"We can change it," chorused Damien and Taylor. "Only," continued Damien. "We took out the spare tire to make room for all of the girls' shit-"

"Hey!" we shouted.

"Well, it is your shit," he snapped. He pulled out his cell phone with a snarled and muttered, "I'll just call a fucking tow truck, take it to that Autozone we passed. No telling how much that's gonna cost."

"Well I'm not just standing here. C'mon, Sam," said Livy, walking around to the trunk and grabbing her bags. She slung one over her shoulder, holding the other by the handles, and passed me my backpack. We turned and began stalking down the boulevard when the guys cried in outrage.

"Oh, quit your whining!" shouted Olivia. She pointed up the block. "The house is right there! It's literally twenty feet away!"

Taylor sighed and motioned to the rest of the bags in the trunk. He told Stiles, Scott, and Isaac to follow our lead. "Why don't you guys take the rest of the stuff up to the house? I'll wait with Damien for the tow truck."

Stiles was the only one who hesitated. "Are you sure? I mean, we can…" Damien looked up with a frustrated glare. "Never mind. We'll be at the house."

Another hour passed before Damien and Taylor returned with a fresh tire. By then, night had fully fallen and a crescent moon hung low over the ocean. Stiles and I were curled up on the couch in the living room, watching dark waves roll up on the sand through the glass walls of the living room. The others were scattered throughout the house, Damien and Taylor just now unpacking, and I sank, depressed, into the couch cushions. "So much for getting an early start on tanning," I grumbled.

Stiles playfully shook my shoulder, flashing a sympathetic frown. "At least we can still go swimming. S'kinda romantic, you know? Swimming at night."

I gave a small laugh and nodded, "True. You kn-"

There came an abrupt clap of thunder. Our eyes rolled up to the ceiling and no sooner than Stiles muttered, "You've got to be joking me," did the Heavens open up, rain and lighting crashing down on us.

"Oh come on!" I shrieked.

Olivia appeared at the edge of the living room. "Looks like we'll be staying in tonight. Take out, anyone?"

Isaac popped up behind her and shot me a Stiles an un-amused glance. "You're right. I am glad I came. I'm having a blast."

I groaned and pressed my face into the couch. "This officially blows."

* * *

><p>The rain didn't stop for two days and our marvelous week at the beach turned out to be not so marvelous. When the torrential downpour finally came to a stop, we were so overjoyed and spent twelve straight hours on the sand, playing volleyball (which Stiles totally rules at by the way, go figure), soaking up some sun, and trying to teach Isaac how to surf (that was a riot). That first night it stopped raining, we had a bonfire on the beach. Damien used his fake I.D. to buy some beer and wine coolers. We drank beer, roasted marshmellows, and fell asleep in the sand.<p>

And the next morning, when we rose, we were baked like those lobsters Damien wanted so damn bad.

"How come no one remembered sunblock? Why?" cried Scott.

"Stilinsky, you're pale as shit. Why didn't you bring it?" snapped Damien.

"Look, you've been on my ass since we got here. You want some sunblock so bad? Go fucking get it yourself."

"Too much testosterone in here," said Taylor, gingerly standing up, careful not to touch anything. "I'm going upstairs to take a nap."

"I thought you liked testosterone," Isaac snickered, the only one in our bunch not burnt up like a hot cake. Apparently, he never burns. Must be good genes, as he claims his brother never burned either.

"Oh, gay jokes, that's funny," mumbled Taylor, eyes rolling. "You're such an original, Lahey."

I winced, my arm accidentally brushing something. "It hurts…so bad…please, please tell me someone has aloe vera?"

"No one packed that either," grumbled Olivia. "Who's great idea was it to come to the beach?"

Six pair of wide eyes landed on her in disbelief. "Are you shitting me?" I quipped. "You bitch, it was _your_ idea!"

Olivia wrinkled her nose. "There's no need for name calling."

"I can't blink without hurting, I'm so sunburnt. I think there's plenty of need," I growled. I turned to Isaac. "Go to the store. Take the SUV-"

"Whoa," Damien began but Livy and I quickly shut him up, "Don't even!" I continued, "Isaac, go get sunblock for tomorrow and like, five tons of aloe for tonight. And get ice cream."

"How's that gonn-"

"It'll make us feel better," snapped Olivia. She snagged the keys from Damien's bag and tossed them at the young werewolf. "Now, get busy."

Isaac scoffed. "Yes ma'am." He rolled his eyes but turned on his heels and left, Damien yelling some half-witted threat about Isaac being sure not to scratch the car, or else. The rest of us glared at Damien and I managed to climb to my feet. "I'm going to lie down. Bother me and I'll kill you."

"Mind if I join?" asked Stiles.

Stiles and I were staying in one of the downstairs bedrooms. Once in our room, I stripped of my bathing suit and pulled on an oversized tee shirt, one that was loose enough not to hurt. I carefully took a spot on the bed, watching as Stiles slid off his flip-flops and swim trunks. I was too tired to move but I lazily grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it at him. "Nice butt."

Stiles chuckled, fishing in his bag for some boxers, and winked at me. "Nice burn."

"I'm so sorry this trip has been a total bust. I swear, every summer Livy and I have great time. I don't know why this summer has sucked. Like, so bad."

"No, no way. It's been…fun. Sort of. Well, last night was fun, the bon fire and all."

"Weird that Scott and Isaac can't get drunk. Like Captain America. It's cause of the wolf thing, right?"

Stiles nodded and joined me on the bed. He lay strategically so that our sunburnt bodies weren't touching but laced his fingers with mine between us. "Next time we'll remember sunblock."

"And leave Damien at home."

"Right? He's been a total tool this week."

"He must be on his man-period."

Stiles started. "Um, there's no such thing as a man-period."

"…if you say so."

**This one is a little different from the others. There's not much fluff, just a fun little chapter about a not-so-fun beach trip because on the show we never actually see them acting like teenagers. **

**Review! Because Stiles wants you to. And so does Scott. And Isaac. And Derek and the Argents and…**


	15. Chapter 15

**PART QUINCE**

"Are you kidding? …seriously, you're joking, right?"

Olivia pulled a face. "I know. Such generosity is uncharacteristic of me but I-"

"You what? Don't say you feel bad for her. Livy, she's heinous. She-she's a hyena!"

"That's just hurtful."

"It's true."

"Sammy, we sat with her at lunch practically every day last semester and you were fine."

"Because I was too busy chewing my food to chew off her face. I _hate _her. You _know _I hate her. Besides, I only tolerated her because of Allison."

"And now Allison is in France and Lydia's all alone."

"She's alone because she's evil. She has no friends for a reason."

My best friend sighed. With purposefully slow movements, she surrendered her hands in defeat. "Fine. Be a heartless wench. Leave poor Lydia alone to sulk in-"

"Poor Lydia, my ass," I muttered.

"-her depression, but don't come to me complaining when karma bites you in the ass."

"I don't want to hear you talking karma. You gave Porter food poisoning freshman year so he wouldn't ruin your date with Damien to Disneyland."

"He invited himself!"

"He was eleven and wanted to go to Disneyland with his big brother!"

Olivia pursed her lips, indifferent. "Whatever. It's not the same thing."

"Correct," I nodded in agreement. "I'm not poisoning children. I'm just not pretending to be friends with someone I can't stand to be in a room with for more than thirty-seven seconds."

"You have no soul."

"Good. That's one less part of my being for Lydia to consume and destroy during her reign of terror."

"Honestly, she's not that bad."

A buzzer dinged in the kitchen. Livy's mom called from the doorway, beckoning us forward to test her latest culinary creation, some exotic fish tacos. Our debate on Lydia Martin's loneliness was put on hold. For now.

* * *

><p>When I left Olivia's house an hour later, a lemon-peppery taste in my mouth, my mind was somewhere I never want it to be – on Lydia Martin. I saw my best friend's point but I still felt no sympathy for the strawberry blonde Hitler. Okay, admittedly, that was harsh. As far as I know, Lydia hasn't slaughtered millions. Not yet, at least.<p>

I drove through the main square of Beacon Hills, passing my favorite twenty-four hour ice cream shoppe. As I navigated the nearly deserted streets of town, I mentally mulled over Lydia's misfortune. Unfortunately, I was so deep in thought that I failed to see the red pick-up run the traffic light.

It's a strange sensation, rolling in a vehicle. Somewhere in my mind I was able to register the gravity of what was happening as my car flipped across the pavement. Yet, even as I realized that I was more than likely going to be in great amounts of pain, probably bloodied with a few, if not several, broken bones the moment the car came to a stop, I was completely calm. Total serenity.

I was moving almost in slow motion and everything was quiet. Like in the movies when something horrible happens – a bomb explodes or the wife is shot and all the noise is blocked out. It was weird and made the accident seem not so horrible. Almost like the universe was giving me time to prepare for the inevitable pain. When my car landed against the telephone pole, the impact was jarring, more so than the rolling itself. The harsh collision, the sudden stop against the pole, caused my seatbelt to dig into my chest.

I gasped for air and exploded with pain.

So this was what Livy was talking about. This was karma.

I could barely breathe. Immediately, I knew something was wrong internally. Maybe I had internal bleeding and some of the blood seeped into my lungs? Maybe I cracked a few ribs? Whatever the case, I couldn't catch my breath. Once in the eighth grade, Scott had an asthma attack during our gym class. I briefly wondered, tightly strapped into my busted, broken car, unable to control my breaths, if this is how Scott's asthma attack felt.

There were sirens in the distance and I could vaguely hear the sound of shouting. Suddenly, there was someone poking their head in my driver side window, which had shattered upon impact with the pick-up. "Hey? Hey, are you conscious? Can you move? Can you feel anything?"

"I can feel," I managed to gasp. There was a metallic taste in my mouth, the pepper on my tongue from Mrs. H's Mahi Mahi gone.

"Look, don't move, okay? The ambulance is on its way!"

_Where would I go?_

A few moments later, the sirens were overwhelmingly loud. Like the pain in my chest and head, they seemed to fill up the space in my collapsed car so tightly that I thought I was going to burst. Blood began trickling out the corners of my mouth as tears pooled in my eyes. I tried to remain optimistic as EMTs spoke to me, firing question after questions, but not daring to move me. Was I stuck?

There were so many voices, urgent but trying to be reassuring, and so much pain. I was in agony – and suddenly, through the wail of sirens and cacophony of medical terminology, there came a familiar voice, one that was comforting and heartbreaking all the same. "Samantha…how are you doing, sweetheart?"

I rapidly blinked away my tears and gave the sheriff a shaky smile. I nearly choked as I scrambled for enough air to cough out, "Not so hot, chief."

"You're doing good, Sam. Real good. I just need you to stick it out a little bit longer and we're going to get you outta there." The sheriff smiled at me, a sort of devastating smile, and reality broke through my pain.

"I'm not-" I gasped for air. "-not going to live, am I? …I, uh, I'm dying?"

Sheriff Stilinsky crawled closer to me. He elbowed through piles of glass and plastic and found my hand in the rubble. He drew a quivering breath and swallowed hard, his strong gaze misting over. "Based on what you've said, the EMTs believe your ribs have punctured your lungs and that you're bleeding into them. We have to be careful moving you so we're trying to get the-"

"The Jaws of Life?" I scoffed, blooding dribbling down my chin. A movie montage played in my brain of every death scene I'd ever watched – characters who had been shot, stabbed, run over, blown up, beaten to death with a baseball bat. The scenes ran together and one similarity stood out, the kiss of death in cinema: coughing up blood. I licked my lips, the blood sliding across my chin. "But…I won't last that long…"

The sheriff squeezed my hand. "We're not going to let you die…Scott and Stiles are on their way. We're going to figure this out. Stiles and Scott, they…they'll figure this out."

The way he spoke, the subtle twinkle in his eye, made me wonder for a moment if the sheriff _knew._ But that was impossible. Stiles went to every length possible to keep his father safe from the horrors of the supernatural world.

"What about my parents?" I choked.

"They've been called-"

"No. No. I don't want…I don't want my mom to see me like this. Please," I panted, my words sputtered through a mouthful of blood. My head was swimming. I was drowning in my pain.

Sheriff Stilinsky squeezed my hand once more and his lips parted but before he could speak there came another, loud, hysterical voice. "Sam! _Sam_!"

The sheriff moved to make way for his son. Stiles' face was wet, slick with panicked tears. "_No_. No, no, Sammy! Fuck, Sammy. You can't leave me. Do you hear that? You _can't _leave me. Scott!"

Scott appeared beside his distraught best friend. Stiles, like his father, sought out my hand. His thumb stroked across my bruised knuckles. "Please stay with me, Sammy," he pleaded. His eye never leaving mine, he called, "…Scott?"

Scott glanced at him, uncertain. "Are you sure?"

"Do it."

I blinked, attempting to take a breath and became strangled. Scott's eyes turned yellow. Then, very slowly, a red swirl appeared within them. "Sam?" he asked, his voice soft in the mess of sirens and background conversation.

What? What were they asking? Delirious, I numbly realized that he wanted Scott to try to save me by giving me the bite. Stiles wanted his best friend to turn me into one of his kind – a werewolf. The thought was startling, to say the least, and I choked, fighting for another gasp of air. But this time, it really wouldn't come. My eyes closed and the world turned black.

"Scott, do it!"

There was a brief pause, and my arm erupted in an agonizing, firey pain.

"Sam? Sammy? Sam, open your eyes! Sam!"

I jolted upright, a gasp tearing through my chest so profoundly that tears sprang to my eyes. Scott and Stiles were hovering over me. They looked terrified, nervous. Stiles knelt beside me, his hand perched on my shoulder. "Sammy, what the hell?"

It took a moment for me to remember where I was and what was happening. To understand that it had only been a dream. Sitting up, I reached for my boyfriend, tugging him downward and forcing him to join me on the Stilinksys' couch. He fell onto the cushions behind me, his arms instinctively wrapping around my waist. Scott sat on the edge of the coffee table. He gazed on in concern as Stiles laced his fingers with mine and asked, "What happened?"

"Bad dream," I mumbled.

"Must've been a nightmare," replied Scott.

Stiles pressed a kiss into my hair. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

I firmly shook my head. Would revealing my dream – the fear of death now that I was exposed to Scott's world – offend Scott? Or worse, hurt him? "I don't remember," I lied. Behind Scott, the movie credits rolled across the TV screen. "Damn, I missed the ending."

"You missed the beginning, too. Missed the entire movie, actually," Scott corrected me. Stiles explained, warmth from his body radiating through me, "You fell asleep halfway through _Captain America._ We watched _Thor _after that and just finished _Iron Man 2_."

My nose wrinkled. I'd missed our entire movie marathon. "Damn."

"But," Scott chirped cheerfully. "-you woke up just in time for _the Avengers_."

"Yay." My cheer was a little lame, though I did manage to smile.

"Hey, Scott, why don't you go make some more popcorn?" asked Stiles. "And grab some more nachos, too! And some Coke!" The moment his best friend was gone, Stiles turned my face to his with a gentle grasp on my chin. "Do you want me to make Scott leave or take you home?"

"What? No. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're still shaking, Sam."

"I'm cold." Another lie. "Your dad keeps it, like, sixty-two in here."

Stiles snagged a blanket off the arm of the couch and draped it over our legs and my lap. He took a moment to wrap me up nicely, like a Christmas present. When he was satisfied that I was snug and warm, he kissed me tenderly. He trapped my bottom lip between his teeth and gently nipped and tugged. "Sam…are you sure you don't want Scott to leave?"

I gave a laugh. "You're such a horndog, Stilinsky. And, no, I do not wish for Scott to leave. I like Scott. He's cool. And surprisingly-"

Scott returned, his arms full of popcorn bowls, plates of nachos, bags of cookies, a six pack of Coke, and, was that a jumbo bag of Twizzlers? I continued as McCall dumped his loot on the living room table. "-surprisingly un-annoying for a third wheel."

Scott frowned around a mouthful of Twizzlers. "Not fair."

"What? I said you were _un_-annoying. And cool."

"You called me a third wheel."

Stiles and I shared a look. "You are a third wheel."

The teenager werewolf gaped at us. "I…what…but…" He huffed. "Whatever. Can we start the movie?"

* * *

><p>Stiles did make Scott leave eventually and we, obviously, ended upstairs…in Stiles' bed…naked.<p>

Our sex life had been virtually nonexistent since, you know, we almost broke up after the rave and that little stunt at the police station when I learned about Scott's super-secret identity, alias Scooby-Doo, didn't really help either. But, that first night after Stiles was kidnapped, we had sex, like, three times. It was awkward and wonderful all at the same time. Awkward because he was physically in pain and his mouth was busted to hell, but wonderful in that we hadn't made love in such a long time and finally, _finally _everything was out in the open. No more secrets, no more lies, just me and Stiles. And it was…well, wonderful.

"What are you thinking about?" Stiles whispered sleepily, his lips brushing my ear. His arm was curled around my bare stomach, his face pressed into the pillow, my hair spilling out beneath his cheek. I grazed his arm with my fingertips, "I thought you were asleep."

"M'not asleep," he mumbled.

Grinning, I turned and burrowed against him, pulling his navy comforter over my shoulder. A chill was starting to rise in the Stilinsky home, night having fallen outside. I pressed a kiss onto the curve of Stiles' bicep. "You're _so _awake."

"You're _so _my girlfriend. I swear, if you were any more sarcastic, we'd be the same person."

"Agreed. I'm just the better-dressed, female version of you."

Stiles peeked open a single eye. "Seriously, why is everyone always hating on my sense of fashion? First my dad, now you. What's wrong with the way I dress?"

"…that's a rhetorical question, yes?"

Stiles snorted and his eye fluttered shut once more. I snickered to myself and reached up to run my hands through his hair. It was getting a little long, double the length of his buzz cut, and a few days ago I'd jokingly mentioned that it was time for a haircut, at which point Stiles merely shrugged, "Eh, I'm thinking about growing it out." The longer his hair grew, the darker it got, his light brown hair turning a marvelous chestnut. The color complimented his warm, honey eyes. Christ, he was beautiful.

I leaned forward and kissed his mouth, lips half-open in sleep. "Wake up," I insisted prudently. Stiles whined in protest and, in response, I poked his shoulder forcefully before kissing him again, but this time more firmly. I nipped at his bottom lip, my tongue tracing the full curve. "Wake up."

Stiles feebly responded to my kiss, lazily rolling over and pulling me on top of him. "M'awake…awake."

One leg between his, I was half laying on him and propped up on an elbow. "No, you're not," I growled, an inch away from his face. "_Stiles_, wake up."

My boyfriend's eyes opened widely. He blinked and yawned. "I'm up, I'm up. God, it's like that scene from _the Lion King_. Go back to bed, Simba."

"There's a naked girl lying on you and you're telling her to go back to sleep? Are you gay? No judgments, if you are. Taylor's like a brother to me and I love Neil Patrick Harris. But like…I feel like that's something you should've told me a while ago. Preferably before we slept together. Multiple times. Oh, God, did I _turn you_ gay?"

Stiles deadpanned. He was not amused. "Yeah, Sam, I'm so gay. I hate women. Boobs, who needs 'em? Unless they're man-boobs, that is. Geez, how ever did you figure me out?"

"You're grumpy when you're sleepy."

"And you're annoying when you're horny." A slow smile lifted the edges of his mouth. "But I like it." His hand trailed up my side to tangle in my hair. He pulled my face down to his and, when our mouths met, it was like fireworks. Every inch of my being tingled, my body coming to life, and a moan exploded in my throat. I felt Stiles smirk against my lips. Mentally rolling my eyes, I slapped at his arm, drawing back just enough to mutter, "So cocky."

His hands slid down my back and over my hips. He hooked his fingers around my knee, hoisting my up higher on his hips. His body grinding against mine, he kissed my throat, his lips caressing over my collar bone and shoulder. "So sexy."

"Damn, I missed this," I breathed as his lips launched an assault on my chest, his fingers digging delightfully into my hips.

Stiles rocked into me like an expert. His hips moving in time with mine, Stiles captured my hand, weaving our fingers together against the pillow above his head. "Me too, Sammy. Me too."

**Be honest, were you fooled? Like I'm going to turn Sammy into a werewolf. Puh-lease. Her life is crazy enough, okay? **

**Thanks go out to the following: **Not. So. Typical. Girl., GirlWithAWritersSoul, Black Bart Lady, MessintheMirror, HungerG94, **and **peanut100004. **You guys are awesome. Thank you so much for all of your support! **

**Now, review! Because, damn it, Sheriff Stilinsky said so. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Just wanted to say, thank you for your kind words and I love you all dearly to: **Not. So. Typical. Girl., SpecialKTheDreamer, katiesgotagun, GirlWithAWritersSoul, LittleMissProngs, HungerG94, Black Bart Lady, Tsovy, MessintheMirror, peanut100004, OTPsFTW94, lucawindmover, nessafly, Omfg, kenziebeyer, Raven-Croven, **and all of you lovely **Guest **reviewers! Thank you guys so much for taking the time to review and share your thoughts on this story. Words cannot express how much I appreciate it. You guys are what I write for. **

**That being said, I have a favor to ask of you wonderfully awesome readers. If you are an **Avengers **fan, I have a story I would like for you to check out. It's my story called **Home Movies **and it's a **Clint Barton/OC** fic that is very much so like this one. Like this story does with Sam and Stiles, **Home Movies **follows Clint and his wife, my OC Georgia, in a very fun, smutty way. If you like this story and are an **Avengers** fan, I think you'll enjoy that one, too. So please, do me a solid, and just check it out. I will be eternally grateful! **

**PART DIECIS****É****IS**

Stiles's life has improved, well, _changed_ drastically in the last year. One year and he went from sad and single, to having a girlfriend that adores him. From being a virtual loner with Scott as his only friend, to having Olivia, Taylor, Damien, Isaac, and, on occasion, Derek at his back. From failing all of his classes, to only failing Harris's class – which, let's face it, is never going to change. From benchwarmer, to first line.

Those were the improvements. A few changes included, but weren't limited to, his best bud in the whole wide world being turned into a werewolf, being kidnapped, toss in a few dozen murders, a couple near-death experiences, and you have Stiles's sophomore year. Despite the weirdness and the major health hazards, Stiles was happy and content with most of these changes. All but one.

"I wanna be team captain. I just…I want to be able to say that I achieved something in high school."

"Why don't you start with achieving a diploma?" I suggested. The obvious choice to me was for Stiles to quite lacrosse and focus all of his attention on his studies. Maybe if he'd done that last semester, he would've passed Harris's class, too. But, ya know, doubtful.

Still, my adorably dorky boyfriend was relentless. He'd made up his mind. Come next spring, with Jackson out of the picture and Scott's grades on the rocks, Stiles was going to be the lacrosse team captain if it killed him. So, he and Scott have been at the high school practicing nearly every day this summer. They were ridiculous. It was like the Sandlot – "rain, shine, tidal wave, whatever" – they were out there.

Typically when the boys practiced, I would catch up on girl time with Livy and Taylor – though Taylor insisted that we quite calling it "girl time" because he was gay, not transgendered. However, sometimes, on a whim – or if Olivia was getting on my nerves – I would tag along to practice. Stiles and Scott were always keen to include me in the lacrosse madness on those tag along days. When we first arrived at the school, we would pass the time joking around and playing kiddy games like monkey-in-the-middle. Then, I would steal Stiles's lacrosse stick and try to score a few shots. Of course, this was followed by severe mocking and name-calling on account of my shitty hand-eye coordination. Stiles, fighting his laughter, would apologize by approaching me from behind and slipping his arms around my waist, his hands covering mine as he showed me the proper way to shoot.

Eventually, our games and playfulness would draw to a close, and I would retreat to the stands to watch the men do their work. And that's where things would go south, just like they did today. Holed up in the stands, I was content to watch them…for about forty-five minutes. I watched the way Stiles's lithe body curved with each swing. His long torso twisted and curled, his arms springing forward, the lacrosse stick whipping the ball toward the net. Stiles had beautiful arms. The taunt, pale, freckled muscles, coiled around thin wrists. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed with each throw, his shirt tightening across his broad chest. I watched him and bit my lip and pretended to not notice the way Scott smirked knowingly from his place between the goal posts.

Like I said, this worked for roughly an hour before the boredom set in. I picked at my nails, texted Taylor, and tapped the entire _Ghostbusters _theme song on my thigh in attempts to fight the boredom. Didn't really work. There was also the cold. The biting, Northern California, seventy-degree summer cold. I tugged my shirt sleeves down to save my fingers from frost bite and wiggled on the uncomfortable steel bleachers. "So…_bored_…so cold," I grumbled, glaring when Scott chuckled on the field. "Piss of, McCall. And you're super hearing is still really creepy, by the way."

"Dude, I think it's time to call it quits," the young werewolf snickered at me. Stiles looked insulted, "What? No. I'm just getting into it."

"Your girlfriend's turning into a popsicle."

"What? No, she's fine." Stiles whirled around to toss me a smile and I grimaced in return. My boyfriend frowned, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He shot Scott a look of determination. "We'll come back tomorrow."

"Can't. I've got that extra shift at the clinic."

"What? Scott, you're too young to be boggled down with work all the time. You're growing up too fast. You should quit your job."

"I'm not quitting my job so I can play goalie for you, dude."

"How did this happen to us? There was a time when you used to prioritize, Scott. Back when you still loved me."

"You know what I love?" I shouted from the stands. "Being able to feel my toes. Can we go?"

While Stiles and I had driven his Jeep to the high school, Scott rode over on his brand new motorbike. Well, it wasn't brand new. He bought it used but it was brand new to him and he was damn proud, having bought the motorbike with his own money. After he and Stiles rounded up the lacrosse balls scattered across the field, Scott bid his farewell and trekked over to his bike, speeding off down the highway. I took the bleachers two at a time, arms wrapped around my torso, a light shiver running down my spine. Stiles gave me an apologetic smile. He juggled the mesh bag full of the lacrosse balls. "Just let me run these back inside and we can-"

"And leave me here all alone to freeze until I die? Or worse, get snatched and killed? No way. Haven't you heard, Stiles, there are werewolves running around." Curling my hand around his, I walked with Stiles to the locker room, not daring to ask how he got a key.

"God, your hands _are_ cold."

"Well, get me inside and maybe I'll let you warm me up."

He dropped the mesh bag inside the coach's office and I took a private tour of the locker room. The showers were huge, much bigger than the girl's locker room, which is completely backwards, and the stale smell wasn't as bad as I expected. Stiles watched me loop through the rows of lockers, my cold little fingers trailing over the wall of metal. "Which locker is yours?"

He pointed. "That one."

I wrapped my knuckles on the door. "Why is it a different color than the others?"

"When I was kidnapped, Scott ripped off the door so he and Isaac could get my scent off my stuff. The door was totaled. They had to get a new one."

I nodded, resting against the metal lockers. "Does it ever bother you?" I mumbled. "You know, that your life is pretty much just a crazy mix of supernatural mumbo jumbo? That literally half of the people you surround yourself with on a daily basis aren't human?"

"Does it bother me? No. Is it a little weird? Yes. But it's also kinda badass. And cool. When we're not being chased or threatened."

A slow smiled spread across my face. I shook my head and beckoned Stiles forward. "I'm still cold, Stilinsky."

He trapped me between his body and the lockers at my back. He took my hands and brought them to his face. His breath was hot and instantly warmed my fingers, my palms brushing over the slight stubble growing on his cheeks. He kissed the tip of my nose. "Damn, baby, why didn't you tell me you were so cold?"

My fingers tangled in his shirt, his hands weaving through my hair. I placed a kiss on his chin and shrugged, "I know how important this is to you. I think it's really great that you have lacrosse. It's something that you can be proud of, something that you love to do. Besides, I was the one who wanted to tag along. I knew exactly what I was getting in to. I just…should have planned better. Planned to bring a jacket and a book."

"Why do you say it like that? You have stuff you love, too, Sam. You've got the swim team."

"Please, we both know I'm only on the swim team because it'll look good on college applications. I love having sex. That's about it. And as far as career options go, that's not too promising."

"I can see the potential there," he grinned devilishly, before recoiling and shouting, "Ow!" when I socked him in the shoulder. "That was not nice," he muttered sarcastically before capturing my lips in a nice, warm kiss. I caught his bottom lip between my teeth and tugged, "Someone's taking the invitation to warm me up a bit literally."

Stiles smirked, his lips trailing down to nibble on my neck. "I'm an insecure teenager. I often read into things. Anyway, didn't we just confirm that this was your favorite passed time?"

His hoodie was the first to go, followed swiftly by my skinny jeans and then my sweater. "Christ, I love you, Sammy," he groaned against my chest, his fingers digging unrelentingly into my hips. He hoisted me up, our hips meeting, my legs wrapping around his waist. Turning, he lowered himself onto the locker room bench and brought me down with him. I straddled him on the bench. My hands flat on his bare shoulders, I gazed into those honey brown eyes I loved so much. "Why are you so damn cute, Stiles?"

He gave a half smile, the one that showed the dimples in his cheek. "Just comes naturally," he whispered. He leaned forward to kiss my nose one more time before cupping my face and drawing me in for a sweet and gentle kiss. "This," he spoke, our lips brushing. "-is rapidly becoming my favorite room in the school."

I gasped as he began an assault on my chest. My back arched as I fought to breathe. "The way that you say that," I panted. "-makes me think you already have a favorite room here."

Stiles took a quick break from his attack to reply. "Lunchroom. Duh." Then, he immediately went back to work, his lips and tongue making my toes curl.

Lunchroom. Right, because he loves food.

"Fuck, Stiles," I hissed, biting my lip to keep from screaming. I kept reaching for the zipper of his jeans but every time he would dodge my move, coyly sliding my hands away to continue kissing and licking his way across my body. "Enough with the teasing, Stilinsky."

Smirking, he said, "But I'm so good at it."

I rolled my eyes and shoved him away, his shoulders colliding painfully with the lockers. I slid off his lap and stood, my chest rising heavily with every breath. I hooked a finger into the rim of my panties. "Take off your pants, Stilinsky, or I'm going to put mine back on."

The adorable boy swallowed. Swiftly unbuttoning his jeans, Stiles didn't need to be told twice.

An hour later, we collapsed against a row of lockers, sweaty and satisfied. Stiles reached over and took my hand. He laced our fingers and I shot him a happy grin, pulling my knees up to my chest and trying to even my breathing. Definitely my favorite passed time. As if sensing my thoughts, my boyfriend gave a quiet laugh. His eyes scanned the locker room. "I'll never be able to look at this place the same."

"What would you have done if Coach Finstock had showed up? Decided to get in a little summer cleaning."

Stiles looked briefly mortified and shook his head. "Died. I would have died. Because the first thing Coach, the evil bastard that he is, would've done is call the police because we're trespassing and, technically, this is also considered breaking and entering. Which means my dad would have shown up and arrested me because my Coach caught me having sex on school property…yeah. I would've died."

We fell into a soothing silence and then Stiles asked, "Is that your…?"

I followed his line of sight to the ceiling fan above us. Wincing, I nodded. "Yep. That's my thong."

His mouth fell open. Stiles shook his head in disbelief. "How? Just, _how?_"

A few moments later Stiles managed to snag my underwear down from the ceiling and we began to hunt for our clothes around the locker room. Yanking his hoodie back over his head, Stiles ran his hands through his disheveled hair and checked his watch. "It's still a little early. _The Conjuring _is playing over at Hollywood Connection. Feel up to being scared out of your mind?"

"According to Olivia, I'm not allowed to watch scary movies in public," I admitted. My cheeks tinted pink at Stiles's curious look and I explained, "You know I'm a total potty mouth. Honestly, I cuss like a sailor half the time and it's only worse when I'm scared. Two years ago me and Livy went to Pope's Haunted Farm on Halloween and we got kicked out five minutes into the maze because I called one of the clowns a not-so-nice name…seven times. _What? _Don't look at me like that. It's a reflex! I can't help it."

A low hum came from Stiles's throat and my gaze narrowed. "Stop it. Stop judging me. You're judging me."

"I didn't say anything," he scoffed with a light laugh.

"Your mouth might not have said anything, but your expression says enough, okay, Judge Judy?"

"Hey, Judge Judy is a classy lady who may or may not be dead. I haven't seen her show come on in a while. Seriously, I'm starting to get concerned…so, um, no movie?"

* * *

><p>"Are you with Scott every full moon?"<p>

"Usually. After the two or three, he really learned how to control it but…it hasn't been the same since Allison left. He's not as…docile."

"And this time, Isaac will be there, too. And Derek. And Peter."

"Don't forget Jackson."

I cringed. "Of course, not. Five werewolves and we're supposed to do what, exactly?"

"Provide moral support?" Stiles frowned. "Derek will have Jackson chained up. Isaac, too, most likely, though I hear Lahey's pretty good about maintaining control under the moon's influence. Derek and Peter should be fine-"

"Peter, the former serial killer. Yeah, I'm sure he'll be great."

"So then there's only Scott. We're taking extra chains for Scott just in case something happens. But nothing is going to happen. Everything will be fine."

"Yeah, fine, totally," I mumbled. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Turns out, the worst could happen and it did. Worst is Jackson goes out of his freaking mind and is totally stronger than anyone, meaning Derek, anticipated and he breaks out of his chains and starts going bananas. So while Derek and Scott are trying to keep Jackson from going postal on a bunch of Beacon Hills housewives, no one notices the way Isaac's began twitching and thrashing until he, too, broke free of his restraints and came at me and Stiles.

"Sam, run!" Stiles demanded, fishing in his pocket as Isaac charged him. Lahey tackled my boyfriend to the ground as Jackson's growls and howling echoing around us. Stiles brought a hand up to block Isaac's blow and produced some sort of powder from his pocket. Without hesitation, he blew the dust in Isaac's face.

Lahey yelped and jerked backwards. He clawed at his face, the powder in his eyes and mouth.

"Stiles!" Scott shouted as he dodged one of Jackson's punches. "Are you okay?" Scott shot a frantic look at Isaac who was still reeling on the ground. Then, McCall's gaze whipped to Derek and he asked, "What's wrong with him? He usually has more control than this."

"I think they call it survivor's guilt." All eyes darted to Peter who had suddenly materialized in the corner.

"Where have you been?" growled Derek. "Do something!"

Rolling his eyes, Peter murmured, "Don't be so dramatic." Waltzing over to Isaac, the older werewolf stood with one foot on Lahey's chest, effectively pinning him in place. "See? Problem solved."

I moved to Stiles's side. I checked his body for any signs of damage but he seemed fine and, thankfully, unwounded. "What's the worst that can happen, right, Stilinsky?"

"I have sincerely underestimated our friends."

"No shit, Stiles. Look, no offense, I love our friends and everything, but next full moon, I'm staying home."

Stiles sat up, pulling me to his side. "Sammy, I'm sorry. If I had any idea that you were going to be in danger, I never would've let you come."

"Right. Because who would foresee the danger in being around a bunch of pubescent, recently turned werewolves?"

"No one needs your snark right now, Peter!" shouted Derek, he and Scott still corralling Jackson in the corner. Stiles shook his head, "He's right though. I neve-"

"It's not your fault. I thought they could handle it, too. I mean," I shot a glare at Isaac, snarling and snipping at Peter's ankle. "I've known Isaac way too long for that little shit to try and attack me, full moon or otherwise."

"Don't take it personally," mumbled Stiles. "The first time Scott turned on a full moon he tried to kill me. Almost succeeded, too."

"What?" I gasped. Scott, eyes flashing yellow, spun on us. "Come on, Stiles! That was _one time!_ Let it go already!"

"Attempted murder is kinda hard to let go, Scott!"

Eventually, Derek and Scott were able to secure Jackson once more, this time knocking him unconscious. When they did so, Peter quipped something along the lines of, 'He's never going to learn if he's not awake to experience it.' Derek replied to this with a spirited hand gesture and promptly shoved his uncle off of Isaac, who came up swinging. His eyes a brilliant red, Derek let out a deep-bellied roar in Lahey's face and scared the pup into submission.

"Badass," I whispered, squeezing Stiles's arm as Isaac cowered underneath Derek's gaze. Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Don't encourage him."

"What did Peter mean?" asked Scott, coming up on my other side. Sandwiched between the boys, I suddenly didn't feel so worried, but still felt ridiculously out of place. Damn, what was I doing here? This really had been an awful idea. "What did Peter mean Isaac's got survivor's guilt?"

Derek tossed a nasty glare his uncle's way and Peter simply blinked in response. "He's hurting because he's here, safe and sound, but we can't find Boyd and Erica," explained Derek. "We've been searching for months but…we still don't know where they are."

A somber tone fell over the room. We'd all seen the missing posters spread across town and it was no secret that Boyd's mother was getting so hysterical in her son's absence that her sisters were considering sending her to a mental hospital. Giving Stiles's hand another squeeze, I cleared my throat. "I'm sure you'll find them."

Derek nodded. "Me, too. But in what state?"

* * *

><p>I was late. I was unbelievably, disastrously late. The first day of junior year and I was going to miss homeroom. Fantastic.<p>

Suddenly, an Imagine Dragons melody filled the car that I was speeding through town. Fishing in my purse, I found my phone and flipped it open, putting it on speaker and dropping it into the cup holder. "I know, I know, I'm late!"

"You're going to miss homeroom. What's up?"

"I overslept! What else? You know I hate mornings."

Olivia snickered. "Well, I got your schedule. We only have two classes together this semester – algebra two and environmental science. Oh, correction. We share three classes – English, but it looks like everyone's got that class."

"Everyone being?"

"Stiles, Scott, Allison – who's back from France, by the way."

"Yeah, Stiles told me. Apparently, she and Lydia got into a pretty rough car accident last night. Scott and Stiles saw the whole thing. A deer ran out in front of them or something."

"Speaking of, Lydia's in the class, too. So are Taylor and Damien. It's going to be a fucking party all semester."

"Except that you hate English."

"Except that I hate English," Livy echoed me. "At least we can have some pretty bitchin' study sessions-"

My best friend's words were lost to me as a dreadful sight filled my rearview mirror. The red and blue flashing lights filled my stomach with dread. God, I felt like I was going to throw up. "Shit," I groaned, suddenly compelled to bang my forehead on the steering wheel. "Hey, I gotta go. I'm being pulled over."

"Pulled over? By a cop?"

"Yeah. I, um, I'm sort of speeding. Whatever. Looks like I'm going to be even later. I'll see you when I get there."

"Have fun. If he takes you to jail, remember, shoulders back, eyes down. Don't let them make you their bitch."

"What? Where did that-? What are you even saying right now? Christ, Livy." Hanging up on my best friend, I threw my phone into my purse and eased onto the shoulder of the road. I reached in the glove box for my registration and proof insurance. My stomach rolling, I tried to bit back the waves of nausea cascading over me. I hated being pulled over. It had only happened once before – broken taillight – but I had a serious, unprecedented fear of being arrested. Peeking in the rearview mirror, I saw the driver's side door of the patrol car swing open.

The first three letters of the word "sheriff" were painted on the door. "Crap." I wasn't sure whether to be happy or embarrassed and when Sheriff Stilinsky approached my door, I settled for awkward instead. My cheeks were enflamed and I couldn't look at him. "Hi there."

"Samantha."

"Can I plead not guilty?"

"Do you realize you were going sixty-seven in a forty-five? That's twenty-two miles over the speed limit. You can get arrested for going _sixteen _over."

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. I overslept this morning and I'm late for school an-"

"I don't doubt it, considering that you were at my house until one o'clock this morning."

My blush only got worse. "I knew you were awake! Stiles said you couldn't hear us but, um, I'm so sorry. The _Criminal Minds _marathon was on and it's so addicting, but we were being totally irresponsible and I promise if you don't give me a ticket, we will straighten up. I swear."

The sheriff fought a smile. "I'm not giving you a ticket, Sam. I'm going to let you off with a warning this time. This time. Don't think I'm playing favorites-"

"Never crossed my mind," I lied with a grin. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"You're welcome. Just slow down and get to school. You're going to be late if you don't get there in-" He checked the time. "-one minute."

I withheld a curse. "I'm guessing a police escort is completely inappropriate and out of the question?"

"Don't push it, kid."

"See you at dinner, sheriff."

"Have a nice day, Sammy. Tell Stiles I said, 'Behave'."

The first day of junior year and I'm narrowly escaping a speeding ticket that could've led to an arrest. The _first day_ of junior year and it's already off to a bad start. Let's just hope this year isn't as crazy as the last.

**Review! And check out my Clint Barton story! **

**Love.**


	17. Chapter 17

**It's a Christmas miracle! I've updated! **

**So sorry for the wait, friends. Hope you enjoy! **

**PART DIECISIETE **

"He did this on purpose," I growled, stuffing my hands into the pocket of my hoodie while stalking off to the car. I barely caught my mother's scoff behind me before she snapped, "Yes, Samantha, because your father just _adores _food poisoning."

"He knows I love Taco Bell!" I shouted, struggling to contain the impulse to stomp my foot like a two year old. "Now, he's ruined it for me!"

"You know, Sam, that this is not your father's fault. And if _that_-" she motioned my father bent at the waist, head shoved in an outdoor trashcan in the Taco Bell parking lot. "-is the result of their food, you shouldn't be eating here anyway."

"Yeah, well, I won't. Not anymore, thanks to dad."

But my mother merely rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. She reached out to rub her palm in soothing circles on my dad's back, coaxing the vomit out of him with tenderness and love. It was nasty. I turned away, wincing. My poor father.

Withdrawing my cell, I quickly dialed Stiles' number.

"Hey, babe. How's it goin'? Has your dad starting playing the highway game, yet?"

"No, as we haven't actually made it to the highway, yet, and it doesn't look like we're going to."

"Why? What's up?"

"We stopped for dinner and it made my dad sick. He's currently in the process of puking his guts out in the parking lot."

"Oh man. What restaurant?"

"I refuse to tell to you," I murmured, glancing at the giant neon bell-shaped sign above my head. "You love this place and I refuse to ruin it for you as it has been ruined for me."

"…I respect and appreciate your decision."

"Thank you," I snickered. Reaching the car, I leaned against the back passenger door and tried to look anywhere _but_ the trashcan, while simultaneously trying to ignore the sound of my dad up-chucking. "What are you boys up to tonight?"

"Oh, well, um," began Stiles, Scott muttering something in the background that I couldn't quite catch. "A friend of mine from elementary school turned seventeen today so we're going to the party tonight."

"Oh, good, that'll be good for Scott. Get him out and about and away from Allison. Seriously, we have to find a way to make him get over her. It's been over three months. At first, it was depressing; now, it's just pathetic."

"I heard that," growled Scott. Biting my lip, I stifled a laugh and choked, "Sorry."

My boyfriend resumed control of the phone and replied, "Yeah, well, I'll make sure he has fun like a good boy."

"Is that a dog joke?" shouted Scott, in the background.

"Oh, Christ, dude, calm down. You know that's not how I meant it," muttered Stiles to his best friend before he addressed me. "Look, babe, I gotta go. Scott's eyes are turning yellow and he's about to wolf out on me. I gotta get him a Scooby Snack or something before he does-"

"Stiles!"

"-but listen, if you're going to be back in town tonight, why don't you come to the party with us? Do you think you'll be back by seven?"

I chanced a weary glance at my parents. My father was now upright over the trashcan, but his face was pale and his face contorted in pain. "Can't say, really. I'll text you when we get back?"

"Okay. Be safe. Love you."

"You, too. Hey! Tell Scott I said to behave! No angsty wolfy shenanigans tonight or we won't take him to the park to play this weekend."

Stiles' laughter drifted through the phone while his best friend's not-so-pleasant response was to angrily snap, "I swear, you two are perfect for each other. You're both evil." There came a muffled reply from Stiles before the call dropped and I slid my phone back into my pocket. Shivering in the chilly northern California air, I sighed and kicked at the asphalt with the toe of my Chuck Taylors. Looks like we're not going to Aunt Helen's after all.

* * *

><p>"So, who is this friend again?" I asked as Stiles, Scott, and I made our way down the sidewalk toward the house. Parking had been a bitch, cars and trucks lined on either side of the street and completely filling the driveway. This guy must've been popular as shit.<p>

Stiles shot Scott a quick glance before he answered, his thumb stroking across the tops of my knuckles. "Oh, I haven't told you? Her name is Heather."

_Her?_

No, no, he most definitely had not mentioned a "her." But, after months of feeling inferior to Lydia Martin, I refused to get jealous over a childhood friend. "Yeah? And she's turning seventeen? What'd you get her?"

Stiles sigh of relief was more than obvious and I couldn't help but smirk when I saw Scott toss him a surprised glance, as if they were expecting me to wig out. My boyfriend smiled widely down at me, those adorable, goofy dimples of his sticking out. Then, he blinked sharply and jerked to a halt. "Shit, I didn't get her anything."

My eyes narrowed. I slapped his chest lightly. "You little douchebag. We can't go in there without a single present between the three of us!"

"What?" Scott scoffed. "I don't know her."

"Neither do I but that's not the point. Guys, it's her birthday. Don't be dicks."

Stiles pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it. "I mean, I've got some cash, but I don't have a card. Do you think I could just…?"

"What?! No! She's not a stripper, Stiles. Christ." I rolled my eyes. I turned the boys around and motioned forward. "C'mon. Back to the jeep."

"What?" They groaned in unison, various protests rising from their mouths. The only one I caught was something about being late to the party. This, too, was rewarded with another eye roll on my part. As I gave another hearty shove, the boys stumbling forward toward the car, I snickered, "It's called being fashionably late for a reason. Now move those asses! We've got a present to buy!"

Twenty minutes later, we arrived back at the party scene, a Target birthday card folded in half in Stiles back pocket and stuffed with money. Once more we proceeded with the long trek down the sidewalk in a cheerful, party-anticipating silence. Then, suddenly, my boyfriend broke our happy little mood with, "What?"

"What?" Scott and I asked together.

"What do you mean, 'what?'" snapped Stiles, irritation on his brow. His face softened as his gaze slid to my face. "Not you, babe. Scott. I mean 'what?' and he knows what."

"What 'what?'" asked Scott incredulously, shoulders shrugging in defense.

I threw my hands up, separating the teenage boys who had subconsciously grown closer in the prelude to, what I sensed was going to be, a bigger argument. They were effectively squishing me between them on the sidewalk, the concept of 'personal space' completely out the window. "Okay, can we please stop saying 'what?' And, I think Stiles is referring to your face."

Scott appeared wounded. He reached up to scratch his chin. Had he missed some hair shaving? "What about my face?"

"That look you were giving," clarified Stiles, as I muttered, "You said 'what,' again."

"I didn't give a look."

Stiles and I shot Scott identical looks of disbelief. My boyfriend shook his head at his best bud. "Oh, there was a distinct look, Scott."

"What look?"

My eye twitched. "Stop saying 'what!'"

"Sorry," Scott mumbled as Stiles snapped, "The look that says that the last thing you feel like doing right now is going to a party."

Scott sighed, caught. "It's not that. It just seems weird going to a different high school's party."

"What? Would you-" Stiles groaned. Sometimes his best friend could be a real pain in the ass. "God, one drink, all right? You'll be fine. Heather promised to introduce you to all of her friends. So tonight, no Allison. Tonight, you're moving on."

Scott glanced my way, his lips dipped in the slightest pout. I shrugged sympathetically and poked Stiles side. "You said 'what' again, too. What's wrong with you guys?"

The boys ignored my jabs and, finally, Scott gave a somewhat reluctant nod. However, to his credit, there was some new glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You're right."

Stiles broke out in an overly victorious grin. He gave a semi-fist pump and nodded, "That's right I'm right."

"Moving on," Scott repeated his best friend, nodding to himself. It was like he was gearing up for a lacrosse game or some big History test. "Aww," I cooed, reaching over and giving Scott a hopeful squeeze on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, McCall. We've got your back."

He shot Stiles and me a tight grin. "Let's do this."

"That's what I'm talking about," my boyfriend clapped a supportive hand on the young werewolf's back.

We rounded on the driveway, approaching the door, and Scott began to run a self-conscious hand through his thick, dark hair. His eyes got wide and panicky. "How's my breath smell?"

"We're not smelling your breath."

"Do you have any gum?"

Stiles ground his teeth. "No. No gum. You're fine."

"Can you at least-" but McCall's question was drowned out by the sound of some jazzy female number that poured outside from the living room as we opened the front door and made our way into the foyer. Almost immediately there was a little blonde girl bounding toward us, all wavy hair and broad smile, as she squealed, "Stiles! Hi!"

"Hey," my boyfriend cheerfully returned her greeting, his fingers still locked firmly with mine. "There's the birthday gir-"

And then this little blonde was launching herself against Stiles' chest, her arms wrapping around his neck, one hand lazily gripping a blue solo cup filled with God knows what, as she pressed her pink lip gloss covered mouth to Stiles'.

All of the air rushed out of my lungs in a single, giant breath. "Oh. My. Shit." Absolute disbelief echoed inside me and I heard Scott curse behind us.

Stiles' body was stiff as an ironing board, his shoulder hunched, his eyes wide and fearful, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He jerked back awkwardly just as Heather released him, grinning as she did so. She stayed extremely close, her chest practically smushed against his. "So glad that you made it," she grinned, her voice sticky sweet.

"Me too," Stiles nodded awkwardly before pulling me flush against his side so quickly and forcefully that it hurt. "This is my girlfriend, Sam! Sam. My girlfriend. Who I love very, _very _much. Because she's my girlfriend. And I'm her boyfriend. We're together-"

"I think she's got it, Stiles," I muttered, only just then forcing my jaw, which had fallen open in shock, shut. With every word Stiles spoke, the birthday girl inched a step further back, her eyes becoming saucers and her face flushing bright red. Her jaw, too, fell and she slowly lifted a dainty hand to cover her mouth. She was sort of twitching, her lips curling as if to speak, but there was no sound coming out.

Her friend, a black girl that went to Beacon Hills High with us, gripped Heather's arm – had she begun to sway? – and took control of the situation. "She's _real _sorry. She had no idea homeboy here had a girlfriend. She never would hav-"

"Oh my God, no, I would never!" shrieked Heather. Her gaze darted back and forth between me and Stiles for several seconds before she groaned. "I'm so sorry. Shit, I didn't know! God, I'm so embarrassed. Stiles, I'm so sorry." She looked at me, fear suddenly pricking her eyes. "S-sam?"

"Sam," I nodded.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

I glared at Stiles. Why hadn't he told her? "It's not your fault. It's fine. Happy birthday, by the way." I dug the card out of Stiles' back pocket and held it out for her. With a shaking hand, she accepted the wrinkled gift and paled. "I think I'm going to go downstairs and pick out a wine."

Her saucy friend volunteered to go with her and then the three of us were alone again.

Scott stepped forward, a silly grin plastered on his cheeks. "Well, that was awkward." Stiles and I merely looked at him. The young werewolf nodded and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "And so is this. I'm gonna go get that drink."

"Yeah, you do that," urged Stiles, shooting daggers at his best friend as McCall retreated to the kitchen were the keg and near-empty bottles of various liquors awaited. Stiles' angry face slowly melded into one of terror and regret. He brought his hands up to cup my shoulders but I shrugged him off. "Sam, you saw that. _She _kissed _me _and it was so unexpected I couldn-"

"You didn't tell her about me? And, more importantly, I've never heard about her. You've told me pretty much everything about yourself…so why not about her?"

Stiles' expression crumbled into one of pain and he straightened, glancing over my head. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"Sure, lead the way," I motioned. He took my hand and led me through the crowd of bodies in the living room. We passed a set of French doors in one hallway and, when I gestured to them, Stiles shook his head. "That's her mom's office. Heather would've locked it. There's a guestroom upstairs."

The guestroom, thankfully, was empty. Stiles locked the door behind us and I leaned against the dresser in the corner. "Well…?"

"Heather's just a friend," Stiles pleaded, slumping on the bed at the foot of the mattress. He ran his hands over his face and explained, "I don't like talking about her because I don't like thinking about her…it…it makes me think of my mom, alright?"

Stiles looked at me and my stomach abruptly lurched and did a few somersaults full of guilt and uncomfortableness. Biting my lip, I waited to see if he was going to continue, crossing my arms over my chest to fight off the guilt. Stiles, of course, took this move completely wrong and sighed. "This girl-" he desperately sought to make me understand. "-our moms were best friends before mine died, all right? We used to take frickin' bubble baths together when we were three. It's just…it's not like that. We were just childhood friends. Our moms would get together all the time and…after mom died, I just couldn't. I couldn't face her or her mother. I hated it. I hated seeing them and being around them because it felt so _wrong _and it made me miss my mom even more."

Guilt clawed at my throat and I stepped forward to tell Stiles it was okay and I understood. Before I could, Stiles stood, holding up a hand to silence my words. He pulled me against his chest, one hand stroking my arm, the other cupping my cheek, the tips of his fingers curled in my hair. "Then, they redrafted the school districts and she got sent away while I went to Beacon Hills High. It became easy to ignore her. I mean, yeah, my dad and I send them a basket every Christmas and we're friends on facebook, but I just don't see her. Then, out of the blue, she invited me to this party and I thought it'd be good for Scott. I _swear_, Sammy, I didn't mea-"

"I know," I nodded. "I know, I'm sorry. I overreacted. I just…Stiles, you don't realize how likeable you are. Girls are shy, so they don't say anything, but I can name ten girls right now in our year that like you. Not including Heather and Erica. And then all that crap with Lydia, I just…yeah, I guess I get jealous sometimes and it's stupid and irrational because I know you're not that kind of guy-"

"And sexy," Stiles smirked.

I snorted, elbowing him. "Oh, please."

"No, it is. It's totally hot. I've spent my entire life being jealous of other people. It's nice to finally see someone getting jealous over me."

Rolling my eyes, I leaned up and placed a delicate kiss on his jaw. I dragged my lips over his freshly shaven skin until our lips met. I pressed down hard, my hand curling around the back of his neck. My tongue flicked out to trace his lips, erasing any trace of Heather No-Last-Name. It was a different kind of kiss than we'd been sharing lately. It was more passionate, more purposeful. Sure, we were still totally in love and Stiles was still pretty much the most delicious thing I'd ever seen or tasted. But…lately our kisses had become…well, boring. We were too comfortable with one another, too coupley. We knew one another inside and out and were always together and it was boring. We were like an old married couple with normal, predictable kisses.

"Definitely sexy," my boyfriend murmured against my mouth. Stiles wrapped one arm around my waist and lifted, twirling to set me on the mattress. His lips pulled away from mine to trail a path down my neck and over the mound of my chest. He nibbled on the round tops of my breasts, his tongue occasionally flicking out to lazily drag over my skin. My fingers curled in his hair and my back arched automatically, hoping to give him better access.

"Are you sure we should be doing this here, in her house? I mean, the girl clearly has some feelings for you…"

Stiles shook his head, his lips dragging this way and that across my chest. "Doubtful, she probably just wanted to get laid."

A great, barking laugh escaped me at his unexpected answer. I tucked my hand under his chin and tilted upward. "And you, Mr. Stilinsky? Do you want to get laid?"

Stiles gave an adorable, begging pout. "Yes, please."

I smiled. "Alrighty then."


	18. Chapter 18

**In honor of the season starting up again, I thought I****'****d update! **

**A major thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and those who****'****ve been reading, as well. And because it's been an unholy amount of time since I updated, I made this one a little longer as way of an apology. **

**Hope you enjoy this one, my fellow Stiles lovers! **

**PART DIECIOCHO**

Virgins. Sacrifices. Darachs.

This was my life lately. Because werewolves and kanimas were too mainstream.

Stiles' childhood friend, Heather, the girl from the party, she was one of the sacrifices. The first sacrifice, to be exact. And Stiles was the one who identified her body. Then, everything went down at the old bank – Erica dying; our guidance counselor helping the bad guys; Boyd and Cora, Derek's long lost sister, being released on a murderous full-moon induced rampage. Not to mention the fact that there was an Alpha Pack in town, a pack which seemed to be hell bent on destroying Beacon Hills and decided to do so by getting annoyingly, and dangerously, close to Lydia and Danny.

Mr. Harris was dead, too. Another sacrifice. And Deucalion, the blind, foreign leader of the Alpha Pack, apparently wanted Derek to join his pack of seriously pissed off puppies. The only way to join the Alpha Pack was by killing one's own pack and Derek, knowing how prone he was to giving into manipulation, kicked Isaac out to get the young wolf as far away from the danger as possible. While Derek evicted Isaac to protect him, his actions left Lahey homeless and alone. So, Isaac turned to the only person he could think of - Scott. No one was more shocked than Isaac himself when Scott accepted the poor orphan wolf's request for a place to stay. That night Isaac had moved his belongings into the McCall household in under than twenty minutes.

Virgins. Sacrifices. Darachs.

All of this and we were still expected to attend school.

"Things haven't been this bad since..." murmured Stiles, his fingertips dancing over my bare shoulder.

"Since Scott became a werewolf and all of this began?" I offered sarcastically. My lips moved against his chest and I tightened my grip on his waist. We were snuggled under his navy blue comforter, our clothes abandoned and strung messily on the floor surrounding his bed. We'd skipped school today, needing just one damn day of normalcy, a day to _not_ think about the miserable turn our lives had taken. Again.

"At least we've got each other, right?" My words were mumbled halfheartedly and were slightly muffled by my boyfriend's chest.

Stiles pressed his lips to the crown of my head. My hair must have tickled his lips because he dragged them back and forth a few times. "You're right, Sammy...I'm glad we did this today. I'm glad you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"Running for the hills...?"

I scoffed. "Haven't you heard? That's where the vampires live."

"Oh, God, don't even joke. We've got enough problems to deal with as it is."

I sat up a tad, propping on a few pillows, one hand splayed on Stiles' chest. "It won't be like this forever, you know? You'll catch the bad guys. Or, bad wolves and bad Darachs. _Whatever_. You and Scott and Derek and Mr. Argent. You'll catch them. You'll win. You always do."

Stiles sighed. "I'm not so sure this time...it's like we're always three steps behind. We have no idea who the Darach is, or how they're picking the sacrifices, so we have no idea who the next targets are going to be and no way of knowing how to stop the next murder."

There was a moment of silence and I lazily dragged my fingers over Stiles' pale, freckled skin. Goosebumps rose along the path my fingertips left behind. Stiles sighed once more. "God, how do things always get so messed up...?"

"That's life." My nose wrinkled. "That's normal, actually."

"Yeah, well, in that case, screw normal."

I leaned upward to kiss Stiles' shoulder. Then, I kissed his chin, my mouth dragging across his jawline. "I love you," I told him firmly. "And you can handle this like you always do, okay? We'll figure this out together."

When I pressed my mouth to his, capturing his bottom lip between mine, Stiles released a low moan and pulled my leg over his waist. He held me, one hand stroking up and down my back, the other cradling my head, his fingers weaved through my hair.

"I love you, Sammy," he breathed against my mouth. "I love you so friggin' much."

Lacing our fingers together, I pulled his hand to my chest, just over my heart. My heartbeat pulsed beneath our hands and I lost myself in the warm, honey gaze of the Stilinsky boy. "Will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

His grasp on my hand tightened. Thumb caressing my knuckles, Stiles swallowed thickly. He placed a kiss on the back of my palm. He waited patiently and, when I finally spoke, he kindly ignored the waver in my voice.

"Promise me that you won't put yourself in danger. Not anymore. You've been more than a best friend to Scott, you've been a brother. But I won't let you keep risking your life. I've never...I've never lost someone I love..." I trailed off, moisture rising in my eyes. Biting my lower lip, I tried to calm my emotions and sniffled lightly before continuing. "You've lost your mom, Livy lost her cousin, Isaac lost his brother, Allison lost...well, everyone but her dad. I've never had to go through that and I know that I'm not strong enough to lose yo-"

The words caught in my throat, my stomach twisting. Damn, this was difficult.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Stiles assured me, taking my face in his free hand. "I promise. I promise, Sam."

I promise.

* * *

><p>Everything was warm. <em>So warm. <em>I could feel the heat along every inch of my body, and when I breathed, the air that filled my lungs was hot. The hot air ballooned in my lungs and cheeks and mouth, and was so warm that I nearly choked from the intensity.

"_Stiles!_"

I came awake at the shout, startled and squished beneath Stiles' body. My face was flush against his side and I blinked groggily, sleep caking the corner of my eyes. "Get off of me, fatass," I grumbled, my voice thick. Stiles mumbled something incoherent in response and cleared his throat.

Wait. Stiles' voice wasn't that deep.

Suddenly, my boyfriend jolted upright and twisted above me. "_Dad_?!"

"What?!" I shrieked, automatically reaching for the comforter to cover my bare chest. Peeking over Stiles' shoulder, his body shielding my naked form, I felt my face flame as I saw the silhouette of my boyfriend's father standing in the doorway. "Oh, God."

"This is not happening," Stiles groaned as I slunk back into his pillows, utterly beyond embarrassed. Kill me. "D-dad, I-I can explain-"

"No explanation needed, Stiles. Both of you. _Up. _Downstairs. Now." The sheriff barked out his orders, his face just as red as ours, before swiftly turning on his heels and stomping down the stairs. He left Stiles' bedroom door open.

My hands covered my face and I tried to disappear into Stiles' mattress. "This is not happening. This is not happening."

Stiles flopped down next to me. He stared hopelessly at the ceiling, looking as heartbroken as ever. "We are so dead."

Three minutes later Sheriff Stilinksi shouted up the stairs, and we snapped out of our terror-induced paralysis and began scrambling about the bedroom, collecting our clothes. We took the stairs as slowly as possible and found the sheriff pacing the hallway between the kitchen and living room. He spun at the sound of our entrance. His eyes were wide, his hands in tense knots in front of him. The red anger had faded from his face, now replaced by a more frightening, white pallor. "_Sit_."

Stiles and I hesitated briefly, unsure of where he meant, and practically jumped when he thrust his fists at the living room couch. We sat on opposite ends of the sofa. I didn't dare look at Stiles, and I was too mortified to look at his father. So, instead, I stared at the carpet, gaze nervously flicking back and forth between the carpet's intricate design and the paint-polish that was chipping away on my toenails. The room was thick with tension, and the tips of my ears began to burn pink.

Apparently, Stiles was feeling the dread of the silence also, because he whispered pleadingly, "Dad, say something."

The sheriff's steps faltered mid-pace. He jerked to a stop, his mouth falling open. I watched him out the corner of my eye as he vehemently shook his head and continued pacing.

Beside me, Stiles' knees were jerking restlessly, his feet tapping on the carpet, his hands nervously drumming on his thighs or twisting together. It was driving me crazy. "Stop that," I snapped. Stiles froze, head whipping up, his soft face melting into a wounded expression. "Wha-?" He made a quiet sound of discontent. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"You're dr-"

"Quiet. Both of you." Finally, Papa Stilinski ceased his movements. In that moment, the sheriff was the embodiment of uncomfortable. He kept opening and closing his mouth, his hands wide, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled to find the right words. It was torture just watching him.

"Sheriff, I-" I awkwardly began, but he immediately held up a hand, "Don't. Just...just give me a minute."

Withholding a groan, I slumped forward, pressing my face to my knees while praying for this moment to be over as soon as possible. God, I just wanted to go home. "Shit. You're not going to tell my parents, are you? My dad will _kill _Stiles."

The sheriff and his son peered at me in disbelief. I flinched under the weight of their stares. "What? Sorry for swearing, but he will. He's extreme like that. Please don't tell my parents."

Again, the sheriff looked at a loss for words and he slowly collapsed into the arm chair across from the couch. Elbow propped on the armrest, Papa Stilinski scrubbed his face and seemed to age ten years before our eyes. Stiles murmured, "If it makes you feel any better, this is pretty par for the course actually."

Now, it was my turn to fix Stiles with an incredulous expression. He shrugged. "I'm just saying...listening to the police scanner, breaking into your office, stealing the van that one time. This is actually kinda normal."

"Really, Stiles? This is how you're trying to help your case, right now?" scoffed the sheriff. He added, "-did you say you broke into my office?"

Stiles winced. He gave a shaky, half-smile. "Nooo."

The sheriff rolled his eyes, muttering, "Unbelievable," and rested his head against the back of the chair. Stiles and I fell silent once more, and eventually, the sheriff faced us with a pitiful frown. "Were you at least safe?"

"Oh, sweet Jesus," hissed Stiles. "_Yes_, dad, we were...safe."

I didn't believe it was possible, but I felt myself grow redder. I subtly shifted deeper into the couch cushions, hoping I would fall into some rabbit hole and disappear from this awful, awkward talk. Could this get any worse?

"Right. Well...you two have school in an hour. Stiles, why don't you in Samantha by her house? Let her...freshen up," the sheriff painfully muttered, his face scrunched, rejecting his words. Shaking his head, Sheriff Stilinksi stood and made like he was leaving.

Stiles and I shared a glance full of disbelief at our luck. My boyfriend asked his father, "What? That's it?"

"Dude," I hissed, smacking Stiles' arm. "Don't question our good fortune."

The sheriff paused in the hallway. "We'll, uhh, we'll finish talking about this later. When I've had more time to think and...forget what I saw." And with that, the sheriff was gone.

"What he saw?" I squeaked. "What did he see?! Stiles?!"

My boyfriend was completely pale, his freckles shining against the now white skin. "God, I don't know. C'mon. Let's get you home. Grab you some clothes."

No words were exchanged as we made our way to my house, and when we turned into my driveway, I felt the terrified numbness consume me. Stiles shut off the engine, but I didn't move. I felt like I physically couldn't. "You're dad..."

"Don't say it."

"But he..."

"_Please_ don't say it."

"Stiles, I..."

"We're gonna be late."

Ten minutes later, I emerged from my house wearing a new, clean outfit with brushed teeth and newly applied deodorant. I shoved my textbooks into my book bag as I climbed into Stiles' Jeep. My boyfriend turned to me. His face crumbled. "My father caught us. He _caught _us."

I frowned. "I know. At least he caught us after and not during."

A new wave of horror crossed Stiles' face. "Oh, God." He slumped against the steering wheel, the impact of his head activating the Jeep's horn. "How did this happen?"

"We obviously fell asleep and slept through our before-Papa-wakes-up safety alarm. Since all this mess with the sacrifices started, you've been having trouble sleeping. Oh, please. Don't argue. And I guess last night the exhaustion caught up with you and you just slept through the alarm..."

"So, what's your excuse?"

Shrugging lamely, I replied, "Heavy sleeper."

"It was so awkward. I won't be able to look him in the eyes for a month."

"Ugh, I know! Livy is going to die."

Stiles grunted, "What? You're going to tell her?"

"Like you're not going to tell Scott!" I scoffed. Before Stiles could retort, there came a static filled sound and the radio beneath his dash burst to life. A deputy's voice crackled through the speaker as he called in an incident. I looked to Stiles. "What did that mean?" I asked after the police scanner resumed it's silence.

The muscles in his jaw tightened and flexed. He answered, his voice stiff and angry, "They found another body."

* * *

><p>A week had passed since the latest body had been found, and I woke that Saturday morning to a knock on the front door. My parents were in the kitchen having their morning coffee, which meant they couldn't be bothered. So, I heaved myself out of bed and sluggishly descended the stairs. Yanking open the front door, I asked, bluntly, "What?"<p>

Allison Argent blinked twice and stepped back. "Uh, morning."

I swallowed my surprise and offered Allison a half-smile. "Hey. What're you doing here?" The question wasn't asked rudely, but with a curious lilt. Allison and I hadn't been on the best terms since she went dark-side with her psychotic grandpa and nearly got half of my friends killed. And let's not forget that she stabbed Isaac like thirty-seven times.

"I'm guessing Stiles told you what happened last night..."

Shifting my feet, I glanced down at my fluffy, purple, penguin pajamas. "Yes."

"So you know Derek is probably dead, and that Stiles and Scott are currently on a bus headed for a track meet with two of the werewolves who helped kill him..."

"_What_?! They're still going?"

Allison's brow furrowed. "Stiles didn't tell you?"

My teeth gritting, I scoffed, "No. No, he did not." That little shit.

"In that case, I'm glad I came. Lydia and I are going to follow the bus. Scott got hurt. Like, _bad _and I'm worries about him-"

"Why is Lydia going?"

"Well, she keeps finding the bodies. She's connected to this somehow. Plus, her and Aidan are sort of..."

"Oh, right. The sociopathic, teenage killer. The very person we're concerned is going to kill and eat all of our friends. And let's not forget her time with Jackson, the walking, talking Godzilla who terrorized the town for a semester. God, Martin has some spectacular taste in boyfriends."

Allison shrugged. "It's her biggest flaw. So, are you coming, or not?"

Cursing Stiles for not telling me about this sooner, I nodded and told Allison to give me a few minutes to change. Four incredibly short minutes later, I waved goodbye to my mom and dad, jogging down the driveway to Allison's Toyota. Lydia shot me a too-tight smile as I slid into the backseat. "Nice pajamas."

"Penguins are the shit," I replied with a shrug. Allison asked me to put on my seat belt, and we were off.

We made our way to the school, where we waited behind a fence in the back parking lot for the bus to head out. I could see Stiles' messy brown head through the throng of athletes and felt very confused, angry, and sad. Why hadn't he told me they were still going? Why didn't he explain the extent of Scott's injuries? Why _the hell _were they still going to a track meet?

When the school bus pulled onto the highway, Allison allowed a few cars to get between us and them, trying suavely to hang back and blend in. I withheld a snort and matching snarky comment about her stealth skills. "Is there a reason why we're trying to go undetected?"

"Why am I getting too close? I'm getting way too close, aren't I?"

Lydia smirked. "That depends. Are you just following the bus, or are you planning on mounting it at some point?"

"Well," I confessed, "I sent Stiles an angry text about twenty minutes ago. They know we're following them."

Allison sighed, and I felt the car lag off to some degree as she eased off the gas. "Yeah, I should back off."

"Do you mean the bus or the ex-boyfriend you're currently stalking?" teased Lydia, and for once, I actually agreed with her. It was painfully obvious that Scott and Allison were still ridiculously crazy about each other. Though, after Scott's summer of grieving over her, I wasn't sure if them getting back together would be for the best. If they hooked up again, only to break up once more, I wasn't sure Scott could survive the second round of heart break.

"Well, after it happened," Allison said, referring to last night's fight between Derek and Scott's pack and the Alphas, "-I'm not letting him out of my sight."

My stomach turned at her words. "How bad was it?"

The teenage hunter caught my gaze in the rear view mirror. Her expression was sympathetic, and I kind of hated her for it. Why was she in the loop? Where we back to this again? To Stiles and Scott hiding everything? Allison murmured, "Scott's injury is different this time because it was caused by an Alpha. It's not healing like it normally should and...with Derek _dead_...there's really no one to stop Boyd and Isaac."

"Stop them from doing what?"

Allison frowned. "From attacking the twins."

In the front passenger seat, Lydia stiffened and flicked out her nails, asking, "So is that whole "not let them out of your sight" thing literal or more like a general rule?"

"Why?" Allison and I chorused. Martin motioned the gas gauge, "You're running on fumes." Allison groaned causing Lydia to add, "Yeah. And I'm pretty sure that bus holds a lot more gas than this Toyota."

"There's a station about a third of a mile down the road off the next right, but the bus..." I murmured.

"Is it really that big of a deal?" chirped Lydia. She gave a careless shrug. "I mean, so we lose them. We know where they're headed."

"Meanwhile, we leave Stiles, Scott, Boyd, and Isaac on a bus with two insane, 'roid-rage werewolves bent on total destruction-" I began, my voice packed with a hard edge, the words clipped and biting. But Lydia cut me off, twisting in her seat to pin me with a falsely polite stare. "You heard Allison. It's Boyd and Isaac who are out for blood. Besides, I know who started this mess, anyway."

"Because they murdered Derek!"

My shriek silenced the strawberry blonde. She pivoted in her seat, facing forward once again to study her nails. Allison sent me an apologetic frown in the rear view mirror. Clenching my jaw shut, I swallowed my rage and looked out the window, fuming. It wasn't for a few more minutes that Allison spoke, "What do you mean you "know who started" it? Is that what Aidan told you?"

"Aidan?" Lydia echoed her best friend. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second. Is that why you're inviting me on this whole little road trip thing?" Finally, it was my turn to smirk as the lights began to flick on in Lydia's big head. "Oh, my gosh. You're keeping an eye on them _and_ me."

Lydia sounded utterly betrayed, and I was shocked that Allison didn't immediately give in to her friend's whining. Instead, the hunter probed further, "So there's nothing going on between you two?"

"I am appalled by the insinuation."

"Nothing?" I asked.

"Nothing," Lydia lied.

My phone went off before I could respond and call Lydia on her shit. It was a text from Stiles. _It's getting worse. We have to do something. _

I read the text aloud, and just as I finished, my phone was ringing. "Stiles?"

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry, Sam. I should have told you about everything last night. I just didn't want you to worry, especially since I knew there was no way Scott and I could get out of going today. And I swear, I'll make this up to you, but right now we've got to so something about Scott."

His words came out in one, long, breathless jumble. When he finally took a breath, I simply replied, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Let me put you on speaker phone."

"Hey, Stiles," Allison called. Lydia merely grunted in the back of her throat. I rolled my eyes and told my boyfriend to fill us in.

"Right, well," Stiles said. "He still hasn't started healing. We actually think it's getting _worse_."

Allison's head whipped around. "Worse?"

"Hey, buddy, the road?" I pointed out the windshield. Allison jerked back around, firmly directing the Toyota back into our lane from which we'd begin to drift. "Yeah, focus. Thank you."

Stiles continued. "The blood's turning, like, a black color."

"W-what's wrong with him?" asked Allison, her voice heavy with concern. Obviously, it was only appropriate that Stiles respond to this concern with his usual sarcasm. "What's wrong with him? I don't...do I have a PhD in lycanthropy? How am I supposed to know that?"

"We need to get him off the bus," I murmured into the phone. Allison's grip in the steering wheel tightened, "And take him where, a hospital?"

Stiles sighed. "If he's dying, yeah."

A thick silence fell over the car. The weight of it rested hopelessly on our shoulders. Derek dead. Scott possibly dying. All of our friends trapped on a bus with two serial-killing, supernatural baddies. And there was still a track meet to get to.

"Stiles," Allison half-shouted from the front seat. "-there's a rest area about a mile up. Tell the coach to pull over."

"Yeah, I've been trying."

"Well, reason with him," replied Allison, simply.

"Reason?" my boyfriend snorted. "Have you met this guy?"

"Just try something," Lydia finally spoke, rolling her eyes. Sorta wishing for her death, I took Stiles off speaker phone and brought the device to my ear. "You'll think of something. You always do."

Lydia made some sarcastic noise or another. And Allison, the true friend she was, promptly smacked her for me. Somewhat satisfied, I listened to Stiles' quiet breathing for a few moments. Eventually, he grumbled and said, "Yeah, okay. I'll, uhh, I'll think of something. See you in a minute, Sammy."

"See you in a minute, Stiles."

**Whoever edited this (that would be me) was pretty lazy, so I'm apologizing for any errors that she (I) didn't catch. I hope you enjoyed it regardless! **

**Reviews are always appreciated and loved! They also make me update quicker! **


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm alive! **

**I am so sorry for my unexplained absence. I got into a pretty bad car accident, and I was hospitalized for some time. I'm okay now. Recovering. Both of my legs were broken so I'm learning how to walk again and doing therapy and stuffs. But the important thing is I'm back, and I've been writing! **

**I have a lot of fun stuff planned out for the nogitsune episodes, and I'm really excited about it! As far as this chapter goes, **suntan140** requested to see how the others feel about Sam and her relationship with Stiles, and I touch on that a bit with Scott in this chapter with that whole Glen Capri mess. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I missed you guys! **

**PART DIECINUEVE  
><strong>

The light from the flare was blinding. It was like staring at the burning, red sun for too long. My vision began to grow spotted from the glare, and I had to blink, repeatedly, my brow furrowing as I looked away from the lit flare in Scott McCall's grasp. "What the hell is he-?"

Then, I realized that he was wet. Like soaking. Droplets dripped off the end of Scott's nose, his hair drenched and clinging to his forehead. He stood in a shallow puddle, liquid pooling around his sneakers. There was an empty gasoline container at his feet.

"Oh my God."

"_Scott_-" His name was whimpered in a terrified, strangled gasp. Spoken like a prayer, his name was a plea, a begging cry of mercy, of please-don't-do-this-we-love-you. And I couldn't tell if it had come from Stiles or Allison.

Beside me, Lydia tensed and took my hand, her cold, short fingers sliding against mine. In that moment, I was too terrified to be shocked at her display of friendship, too terrified to pull away. I watched in horror as Stiles stepped forward tentatively toward his best friend.

"Scott..." Allison's face clenched in pain. She tried a shaky smile, her head swaying in disbelief. "Scott-"

"There's no hope."

Scott's voice was low. He was gazing at the wet asphalt. His shoulders were sharp and alert, but the rest of him sagged defeatedly.

Allison winced, choking back tears when she responded. "What do you mean, Scott? There's always hope."

"Not for me." Scott finally lifted his eyes. "Not for Derek."

Lydia's hand twitched in mine. Derek. The only werewolf Scott felt he could really look up to. A friend. The very wolf Lydia's new chew toy helped murder. Suddenly, I felt disgusted. I wanted to rip my fingers from hers and spit at her feet. But I was paralyzed in fear. Scott was like a skittish animal, ready to burst, and I was terrified to move.

"Derek wasn't your fault. You know Derek wasn't your fault-" argued Allison. She was desperate, her words quaking. I watched her struggle to hold back her tears. Her stomach must have been in knots because she looked like was going to throw up. I wondered what she was thinking as she tried to talk her suicidal ex-boyfriend off a ledge. Was there a plea repeating itself in her head like a chant? Oh-please-God-don't-do-this-Scott-I-still-love-you. Oh-please-God-don't-do-this-Scott-I-still-love-you. Oh-please-God-don't-do-this-Scott-I-still-love-yo-

Scott's grip on the lit flare flexed. The flame flickered as a gust of wind swept over the motel parking lot. "Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse...people keep getting hurt...people keep getting killed."

"Scott, listen to me, okay?" Stiles spoke slowly. He inched forward, arms out at his sides in a non-threatening manner. He swallowed thickly. "This isn't you, all right? This is someone inside your head telling you to do this."

The gasoline soaked boy seemed to pause. His head just barely rose, but it was enough for Stiles. He cracked the briefest half-smile and said swiftly, "Okay? Now-"

"What if it isn't? What if it is just me?" Scott fired back. Beside Stiles, Allison gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as Scott began to lower the flare to his side. "What if doing this is actually the best thing that I could do for everyone else?" The young werewolf began to shiver. He was crying. His tears mixed with the gasoline on his cheeks. "It all started that night, the night I got bitten. You remember the way it was before that? You and me?"

Stiles nodded, weakly, his jaw clenched. He said nothing as Scott continued, "We were-we were nothing...we weren't popular. We weren't good at lacrosse. We weren't _important_. We were _no one_." Scott lifted his head further until he could look Stiles in the eyes. The best friends gazed wordlessly at one another, and Lydia squeezed my hand again.

"Maybe," whispered Scott. "-I should just be no one again. No one at all."

The finality in McCall's tone was unmistakeable. He was going to do it. He was going to set himself on fire, and we were going to watch him burn. I struggled to breathe. I couldn't watch this. I could watch my friend burn himself alive while we were helpless to stop him. To save him.

"Scott, just listen to me, okay?" Stiles pleaded, words strung together with panicked urgency. "You're not no one. Okay? You're someone, you're..." I watched the tension rolling off of my boyfriend's shoulders as he steeled himself. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides as he forced himself to remain calm. It was something I had seen him do before when he felt a panic attack coming on.

"Stiles," I whimpered. I twitched, my body yearning to go to him, only Lydia held me in place. Stiles head cocked slightly to the right, like he heard me, but he remained facing forward, reaching for his distraught friend. "Scott...you're my _best friend_. Okay? And I _need_ you."

"You don't need me," Scott snapped immediately. "Not anymore." His dark eyes flickered over Stiles' shoulder, landing on me. I flinched under the rage in his gaze. "You've got her. _Sam_."

Stiles tensed. He sidestepped, putting himself between me and his hostile werewolf bestie. "Scott, that's not true. You-you know that. I need _you_. Scott-" Stiles' voice melted into a strangled whisper. "-you're my brother."

The parking lot fell silent save for the sizzling of the flare and the electrical buzz of the motel sign. Lydia, Allison, and I shared panicked looks, unsure and afraid. We waited for Scott's angry or bitter reply. Waited for him to lash out. We watched, our eyes trapped on the exchange between the two young friends. My gaze continued to bounce back and forth between the back of Stiles' head and the glaring red glow of the flare. When it was obvious that Scott had frozen, Stiles gingerly stepped closer. "All right, so-"

He reached the gasoline circle at Scott's feet and my breath hitched. It felt like I had taken a hundred punches to the gut all at once as I watched my boyfriend put his life on the line yet again. "-so if you're gonna do this-"

When Stiles placed his foot into the pool of gasoline, my mouth opened. My lips curled back and my throat thrummed as if to prepare for a scream, but no sound came. Not until Stiles coiled his fingers around the flare.

"_Stiles_, don't-!" I cried, dashing forward to pull him back to safety. Lydia caught my arm, her strength surprising for someone of such midget status, "Sam, stop."

"But he's-!"

"-then I think you're just gonna have to take me with you." Stiles gently tugged the flaming stick out of his best friend's grasp. When he did, Scott sagged even more, his expression crumbling pitifully. Stiles turned from his friend long enough to throw the flare out of the reach of the gasoline pool before spinning to pull Scott against him in a bone-crushing hug.

It happened very fast. So fast that I hadn't registered the fact that I was crying, my face damp from tears. Or the fact that I had, in my panic, fisted a hand in Lydia's sweater, tearing a small hole on the sleeve. Beside us, I heard Allison's relieved sigh. I felt the wind pick up once again. Another chill whispered through the parking lot, goosebumps rising on my skin.

Then, Lydia screamed.

I took the hit in my lower back, Martin's bony wrist digging into the flesh above my butt as she tackled me. We barreled into Stiles and Scott, a mass tangle of bodies colliding and smashing down onto the asphalt. Pain instantly ricocheted through my body, and I was acutely aware of a shooting jolt in my left knee.

I felt the bang of the flare igniting the gasoline just as forcefully as I had felt Lydia tackle us.

Fire erupted behind us in a great burst of bright red and orange flames that instantly shot up to lick the sky before they disappeared just as quickly into the smallest flicker, like a candle's flame, until the puddle of gasoline burned dry.

"Oh, God." Allison had fallen onto the pavement next to us. She raised up on her elbows, the flash-fire illuminating her head like a malevolent halo. "Are you guys okay?"

I grumbled like the pissy dwarf from _Snow White. _Trying to sit up, I realized that, while my knees had smashed onto the concrete, my upper body's fall had been cushioned by another. I froze, my hands bared against Scott's back. "Ummm..."

The boy beneath me groaned. His brow furrowed, eyes closed, and his nose wrinkled in pain. "Can we not do that again, please?"

Relief flooded me; Scott was back to normal. I looked to Stiles, confirming that he was safe and unharmed. He seemed to be doing the same, gaze tight as his eyes danced across my person. Seeing that he was indeed okay, I briefly glanced at Lydia, who also seemed to be alright, before retracting my hands from Scott's back. "Thanks, buddy."

"Anytime," he grunted.

We sat up, pulling ourselves together, and looked to Scott. The young wolf nodded numbly, flashing a sheepish smile, and muttering his thanks. After catching his breath and wiping the gasoline out of his eyes, he took stock of the rest of us. Aside from a few scrapes, including a huge gash on my knee, we were safe and whole and not totally blown to hell.

A beat passed and I mumbled halfheartedly, "Did Lydia just save our lives?"

The strawberry blonde stood and straightened her skirt as she glanced back at the cursed motel where Isaac, Boyd, and the twins were holed up in their rooms. "In case you hadn't noticed, sweetie, I've been saving lives all night."

"Sweetie?"

We raided the vending machines on the first floor of the motel for dinner. We binged on flat Mountain Dews, stale Doritos, and various candy. Holding up a handful of Sour Patch Kids, Stiles asked, "Hey, where do you think the Sour Patch Parents are?" We decide to sleep on the bus on account of the Bates Motel being cursed and creepy as hell. Isaac and Boyd joined us.

Allison and Lydia boarded first, then the other wolves. As Stiles and I went to follow them, Scott stopped us. We waited, my foot on the first step, the bus doors ajar. "Yeah, dude?" murmured Stiles sleepily.

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. He gave a tight smile and shuffled his still-soaked sneakers. "Um, can I talk to you guys for a second?"

Stiles and I nodded. Stepping off the bus, I allowed the doors to shut behind me and slumped against the big yellow child-transporter. "What's up?"

Swallowing, Scott summoned his best puppy-dog stare. "You guys know nothing I said is true, right? It wasn't me. Not really. I don't think that stuff. Stiles, you're my best friend. We weren't no one. We were us, and well, you know, I love you, dude."

Stiles took Scott's confession bashfully. He nodded, the dimples in his cheeks slowly revealing themselves. "I love you, too, dude," he admitted, and the two briefly hugged in a very adorable, brotherly display of affection.

Scott beamed at his best bud before turning on me. "And I love you, too, Sam." McCall's smile was sincere, and I actually felt myself blushing. It wasn't every day you got blatant approval from your boyfriend's other half, after all. "You're super fun and nice, and you're perfect for Stiles. I know how much you've helped him through all of this mess. Actually, I'm really grateful he found you."

"Umm, thanks?" I laughed quietly. "I, um, I love you, too, buddy. Don't worry about this crap, okay? We're just glad you're safe."

The teenage werewolf scoffed. Head shaking, Scott rolled his eyes, hand absently grazing over the healing wound on his side. "You and me, both."

We settled on the bus with the others. We stayed close together in the bus's middle, each taking their own seat except me and Stiles. He leaned back against the window, one long leg pressed to the seat, the other hanging in the floor. I leaned into him, my back to his chest, and his arms came around my waist. He nosed my ear and placed a quick kiss on my jaw. "I know it's selfish, but I'm glad you're here."

I said nothing, but squeezed his hand to let him know I had heard his whispered words. I guess he felt the stiffness in my shoulders because he squeezed back and asked, "What is it? What's wrong, Sammy?"

"Nothing," I instantly replied. I didn't want to talk about it. Not with Allison and Lydia snoozing two feet away. Not with Scott and his wolf hearing snoring in the seat in front of us. Not with us almost blowing up, and all of the wolves going crazy, and Derek dead. "It's nothing."

"Sammy..."

"Drop it, Stiles."

He sighed, hot breath on my ear, "It's about my promise...I broke it. Again."

"You're best friend could've died. You did what you had to do, what you should've done. I just, I have to come to terms with the fact that no matter what, you would die for him. For any of us. I have to be able to deal with the fact that you might die. I just don't know how to do that." Resting my head on the bus seat, I shrugged with an utterly false nonchalance against Stiles. "But I'll figure it out."

"Sammy-"

"Goodnight, Stiles."

* * *

><p>"But why attack Danny? I mean, he's not exactly a healer, unless you're counting all that time he spent in junior high as Jackson's therapist when the douche found out he was adopted," I asked, my words barely audible through a mouthful of bacon and syrup. Stiles watched me drag another piece of bacon through the syrup left over from our waffles and scrunched his face in disgust. "Don't judge. It's delicious. You should try it."<p>

"I'm gonna pass. Anyway, I don't know what's up with Danny, but Scott thinks his mom might be next. Until we can find that missing doctor, he and Isaac are taking shifts keeping an eye on her."

"Hey, are we sure the twins didn't do this to Danny? As a distraction maybe?"

Stiles sighed and ran his hands through his bed head. "I don't know. Maybe. Scott seems pretty convinced that Ethan honestly gives a shit about Danny. He said Ethan seemed genuinely concerned at the hospital, and he wouldn't stop thanking Melissa. But look, can we talk about something else for once?"

I snickered. "Someone's touchy this morning."

"I just want a normal conversation, okay? No sacrifices. No Darachs. No angry Alpha werewolves, or, or any of this supernatural bullshit. Just a guy talking to his girl over breakfast. A normal, shallow high school conversation, yes?"

"His girl? What is this, 1954? Are you going to give me your letterman jacket and your pin? We can go steady."

My boyfriend shot me droll glance. He angrily shoveled another spoonful of eggs into his mouth, and I check the clock on the stove. We had another twenty minutes before we had to leave the Stilinskys' for first period. Rolling my eyes, I pushed away my plate and took a sip of orange juice. "Okay, okay, fine. Big baby...umm, best vacation."

"You mean aside from this summer's beach trip from hell?"

"Still not as bad as _Jaws_."

"This is true." Stiles swirled his fork around his plate, playing table hockey with his eggs, the bacon a makeshift goal. "When I, um, when I was in like, fifth grade, my dad took my mom and I to this cabin in the mountains in Washington for Christmas break. It was the first Christmas we'd ever spent away from home...there was so much snow, just everywhere. My dad kept the fireplace going, and we played boardgames and drank hot chocolate. My mom killed us in _M__onopoly_. She _always_ got Boardwalk and Park Place. I can't remember ever seeing her so happy... That's one of my favorite memories of her."

Groaning, I dropped my head onto the Stilinskys' kitchen table as dramatically as possible. "Can you please stop being so adorable? I think I've reached my limit. I physically cannot take anymore cuteness from you. I'll explode. Boom. Oh, what, is that my molar in your hair? Ew."

Stiles blinked at me. Then, he shook his head incredulously. "You are so spectacularly strange. Okay, um, best prank you've ever pulled."

"Do you remember in middle school when Damien's house got rolled?"

"You did that?!"

"Yep," I popped the 'p' proudly. "Well, me and Livy. My grandfather had this old station wagon. The Dragon Wagon! It was epic. He used to lay blankets down in the back with the door down, and we would lay out the back and throw the toilet paper. We rolled so many houses, but Damien's was the best. The week before, Olivia's brother made this stellar potato gun. We stuffed it with those Hello Kitty streamers and...well, you saw."

"That...You are so hot. I love you. We should have sex. We should have sex right now."

"I know, I know." I pretended to pat myself on the back. "Let's see...best prank someone pulled on you."

"Ugh." My boyfriend rolled his eyes and visibly sunk into his chair. "One April Fool's, Scott's mom told us that she met this guy, right? Spent twenty minutes describing this awful biker she supposedly went on a date with. Tattoos, gray beard, smelled like crude oil and stale beer - the works. Then, she says he knocked her up-"

"Holy shit!" I burst out laughing. Orange juice almost came out of my nose, I was laughing so hard. "Oh, I just... That's awesome. Scott's mom is awesome. I love her."

"No. You have no idea. It was terrible! Scott totally wigged out. He had a full on asthma attack! We had to call an ambulance...seriously, Sam, stop laughing. It was not funny. You're just...ugh, alright, my turn. Umm, best Halloween costume."

"Oh, dude, I was Simba three years in a row in elementary school."

"Simba's a boy," he declared matter-of-factly with raised eyebrows.

"You say that as if it means something. Simba's my soulmate, Stiles. I would marry that lion king in a heartbeat."

"Great. So my competition is a fictional, cartoon lion."

"Fictional? Oh, he's real, Stiles. He lives...he lives in here," I pointed at my heart. "At least he's not a wolf, right? Though I do love Balto."

Stiles let out a strangled groan.

* * *

><p><strong>So a little lighthearted ending. I hope you dudes liked it. Review! <strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello, everybody! First off, I just wanted to thank everyone for the well wishes regarding my accident. You guys are wonderful and lovely and I appreciate it. I actually had physical therapy yesterday, and they think I'll be able to start walking next week, so that's very exciting. Anyway, just, thanks a ton for being awesome, caring people. I love you guys! **

**Now, we're about to wrap up Season Three Part One; there will probably be two more chapters, and then we'll be moving forward to Part Two. Something pretty major is going to happen with Sam's character during the second half of the season that I'm very excited about, and I'm curious to see if you guys have any guesses. So, thoughts?**

**We've reached the twentieth chapter! Woot! An awesome milestone. Not sure how long this story is going to turn out to be, but I'll try to keep you posted as we reach the end of the third season. **

**As always, I love you and I hope you all enjoy! **

**PART VEINTE**

As things turned out, Derek was alive, but just a few short days later, Boyd was dead in his place. I didn't know him well, or at all, really. But his death hit me hard. It made everything real. Aside from Heather, the sacrifices had just been names, not people I knew. It wasn't personal.

But I had helped save Boyd's life just a week ago at the motel. And I had seen him across the Beacon Hills High cafeteria nearly every day for two years. He was a part of my world, albeit a distant part, a friend of a friend.

And now, he was dead.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is a good idea?"<p>

"Stiles, with every that's been going on, I can't think of a _better_ idea," Scott answered his best friend. "You two need to learn how to defend yourselves."

"Hey," Stiles whined woundedly. "I do okay."

Biting my lip, I glanced between the teenage boys and tried, poorly, to hide my excitement. "When can I shoot something?"

My boyfriend's head whipped around as if on a spring. "Oh, God, please, no. You can't become like Allison. You can't. She scares me, okay? She's like Buffy, dude, only she stabs first and asks questions later."

Scoff humphed. He made as if to defend his former girlfriend. Then, he just looked sheepish. "Yeah, um, anyways. Normally, you have to rent the guns, but Allison convinced her dad to let us borrow some of his."

I held up a hand. "Uh, Scott, do you know how to handle these?"

"Totally." Stiles and I stared him down until he elaborated. He rolled his eyes and, regretfully, confessed. "Maybe Allison gave me a tutorial when she brought them over."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, that's what we thought."

The shooting range was kind of a dump, but it was the coolest place I'd been in a while. Scott led us to the lanes he'd rented, and we went through a quick demonstration. Then, we started shooting.

Turns out, for a sheriff's kid, Stiles was an awful shot. I hit the target six more times than he did, effectively earning a "What? Dude, _not fair_." However, neither of us shot the X on the head or in the center of the chest on the human-shaped target. We did manage to get a few shoulder shots, some in the upper chest region, and Stiles even managed to shoot the target's neck, which he swore should have had an X because "duh, Zombie Survival 101 said two to the neck would sever the head."

Scott congratulated us, acting like a proud parent, to which I scoffed. "Don't act so superior, McCall. It's not like you're a champion shooter."

He gave a sideways grin. Lifting his hand, Scott flashed his claws. "I don't have to be."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please."

"Hey, Scott, how do-?" Stiles began, fiddling with the gun in his grasp, when a sudden shot rang out.

Jumping in surprise, I shrieked and covered my mouth. Scott and Stiles were frozen, their eyes wide, staring at the spot on the floor where the bullet pierced. "Stiles, you didn't..."

He swallowed, looking at the gun in his hands as if it was a live grenade. He dropped the gun hastily onto the table. "We should go. Leave. Right now."

"Dude, that was almost my foot," gasped Scott.

"Like you wouldn't have healed."

A light melody abruptly filled the air. It was Scott's phone. The wolf fished his cell out of his pants' pocket, his best friend mocking, "You have _got_ to get a better ringtone. Seriously, they're like ninety cents, dude. Hell, I'll pay it for you if you—Scott what is it?"

McCall looked at us. The muscles in his jaw were tight as he responded, "That was Allison...Lydia said something's up at the school."

We made it to the campus in record time, Scott on his bike, us in the Jeep. Allison had already met Lydia there, and when we arrived, they appeared way too calm. Stiles seemed to sense this also and waved his hands expectantly, "Lydia?"

"It's the same thing. Same thing as the pool. I get into the car, heading somewhere totally different-" the strawberry blonde huffed. "-and ended up here. And you told me to call you if I found a dead body."

"You found a dead body?!" shouted Stiles, his fingers enclosing around mine. I tugged on his hand and glared at Martin, "Don't you think you should've mentioned that on the phone?"

"We haven't found it. Not yet," she replied. Stiles repeated her, adding, "Lydia, you're supposed to call us _after_ you find the dead body."

The teenage girl shook her finger in his face, true to her diva fashion. "Oh, no, I'm not doing that again. You can find the dead body from now on."

"How are we supposed to find the dead body?" my boyfriend demanded. "You're always the one finding the dead body."

"Can we stop saying 'dead body'?" I requested just before Scott called, "Guys... I found the dead body."

"Wha...?"

Twenty yards away, on top of the Beacon Hills High sign on the school's front lawn, was the body of a young woman. Blood dripped from her face and chest, pouring over the sign like something out of a Hitchcock flick.

"Oh, my God," whispered Stiles. He moved closer, dropping my hand. "That's-that's Tara."

"Deputy Tara?" asked Scott. Stiles swallowed, his face fallen, "Yeah...Deputy Tara."

Allison put her hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I think you should call your dad now."

* * *

><p>The next day at school, Olivia approached me at my locker. "So, um, not to try and cause problems, but I just saw your boyfriend leaving school with some slutty looking brunette, and-"<p>

I blinked. "What?"

"Stiles. Boyfriend. Leaving school. With skank."

"Oh." Straightening the bag on my shoulder, I continued shifting through my locker, digging around for my cardigan and gathering my things for final period. "Yeah, I know. That's Cora, um, Derek's sister. She isn't feeling well so he's giving her a ride home."

"And you're totally cool with that? Your guy skipping class to take some chick to her house and tuck her in?"

"Yes, Livy. I trust Stiles," I replied absently. My mind was in a million different places, and not one of them was school. "Besides, I don't think Cora would go for him. He doesn't seem like he'd be her type."

"Whatever. Are you going to that memorial concert tonight?"

"I doubt it." With Deputy Graeme ritually sacrificed, that left two more to go, and if the Darach kept up with its timeline, those two bodies were going to turn up soon. Hand clutching my locker door, I stood, unmoving, as my best friend chatted away beside me, seemingly oblivious to my distracted state.

Or, so I thought.

"_Sam_."

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Top three fictional characters of all time,' aaaand go!"

"What?"

"Samantha, where is your head at today?" snapped Olivia. Seeing that I had my belongings collected, Livy slammed my locker shut and smacked her lips disapprovingly. "Honestly. What's up with you? Even Taylor is starting to get pissed. It feels like we haven't seen you in months, and when we do your head is always off in the clouds."

"I just, family stuff, you know? My parents have been fighting again, recently," I mumbled a flat out lie. I prayed that my shame and guilt weren't plastered all over my face. That she didn't read into the blush spreading across my cheeks. I hated, _hated _lying to her. She was my best friend, but I just couldn't, it wasn't safe. Regardless, I still felt like shit. Then, I thought about all those months that I bitched at Stiles for lying and sneaking around, and I felt even worse. "And don't '_Samantha'_ me. Anyway, Livy, I, um, I've got to-"

"No. You're not ditching me for your new little cult, again. Not today," Livy demanded.

"'Cult' is a little bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Shut up, and answer the damn question." Looping her arm through mine, my best friend began dragging me down the hall to class. "Who are your top three fictional characters of all time?"

"Um…" Shutting down my brain, I focused on the warmth of her arm in mine and the scent of her favorite perfume, some fruity Bath&Body Works stuff. I stopped thinking about everything, stopped worrying, and tried to be a normal teenager for a second. Or at least pretend like I was. "Harry Potter, Ponyboy-"

"He does have that whole heartthrob thing going on," commented Livy. To which I countered, "Well, plus he quotes Robert Frost and well, fuck that's hot. And, uh, I guess Sherlock Holmes. Oh, no, wait! I take back Ponyboy for Mr. Darcy. I fucking love Mr. Darcy."

"Good, good. You have my approval. Let's see…I agree with you on the Harry Potter front, but I would supplement Darcy and Holmes for Nancy Drew and Dracula."

Scoffing, I shot Olivia a disbelieving glance. "Dracula? Since when are you into sci-fi?"

"What? Jonathan Rhys Meyers is gorgeous, and he has made Dracula very, very sexy."

"Have you even read the book?"

"It's a book?"

"Oh my-" She killed me, sometimes. "Alright, well, what about Nancy Drew? I mean, I'm trying not to judge, but…" I pulled a face and Livy rolled her eyes, "Nancy is an iconic character that heavily influenced my childhood-"

"You mean your nosiness?"

"-and my love of reading! I would totally bone her."

"Do people still say 'bone'? And you don't like reading."

"I like reading Nancy Drew."

"You're hopeless."

"_And I know it's hard when you're falling down and it's a long way up when you hit the ground. Get up now, get up, get up no-"_

Livy and I stopped just outside of our class. "Who's calling you while we're at school?"

"It's Allison," I told her. "You go ahead. I'll meet you in there."

Rolling her eyes, my best friend huffed, "Whatever," and turned on her heels, stalking into the classroom while sing-songing, "Cu-_ult_."

Ignoring her, I answered the phone, shifting my feet and glancing around the hallway for any teachers or administrative staff. "Hey, Allison. What's up? Did Isaac find you?"

"Yeah, he's right here. Listen, we figured it out. The Darach has six sacrifices left. It's already killed the virgins, warriors, and healers. According to the pattern, that leaves philosophers and guardians. Given the deputy's death, we think guardians mean law enforcement-"

"Which means technically we're down to five sacrifices," I muttered, slumping against the wall. "Great. Two more police officers, three guardians, and then what?"

"I don't know…I, uh, I tried calling Scott. He wasn't answering his phone so I called Stiles. Sam, Stiles is…he's telling his dad."

My posture went rigid. "Whoa, like, _telling_ telling?"

Allison echoed in the affirmative. "Telling telling."

"Shit. Um, alright." Scrubbing a hand across my face, I desperately wished for a grande mocha from Starbucks and a time-turner circa _Prisoner of Azkaban_. Honestly, could this shit get any more screwed up? "I'll bring Scott up to speed. He's with Morrell now. She's Deucalion's emissary, right? So, Scott thinks that the Darach might have been the Alphas' emissary before her, and Deucalion killed her so now she's back for revenge. Scott thinks Morrell might know who it is."

"Yeah, that would make sense. Okay. Isaac and I are going to keep digging around, see if we can't find out anything else. Let us know if anything happens. And, Sam? Be safe."

"You, too."

I found Scott outside of the guidance counselor's office. We swapped information, me dishing on Allison and Isaac's discovery, him informing me that Morrell wasn't killing anyone, nor did she know who was. We were making our way back to class when Scott stopped, hand darting out to grab my wrist. He tensed, then spun on me with wide eyes. "Lydia."

The werewolf took off running down the corridor, tugging me along, and as we drew closer, I could hear the tail end of Lydia's scream. Scott and I watched from the crowded doorway as she argued with our English teacher. Apparently, Mr. Westover had been taken and Lydia was trying to convince Ms. Blake to call the police. One of the twins suddenly popped up beside us. I inched closer to Scott, pressing into his side in an attempt to get as far away from the Alpha as possible. "Which one are you? The good twin, or the bad one?"

The werewolf snorted. "The gay one. That straight one's in there with Lydia." His eyes shifted to the classroom scene. "A deputy and a teacher. What's the pattern?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know."

"Not a deputy and a teacher," I corrected. "A guardian and a philosopher. Only…it can't be both so…wait, that actually makes sense."

Gay twin – Ethan, I think – glanced at Scott in confusion. "How exactly does that make sense?"

"When his mom died, Stiles' dad used to make him come to the station after school, to keep him close, ya know? Stiles told me that Tara used to help him with his math homework at the station." I waited for realization to dawn on their faces, only the werewolves remained silent and stupefied, and I scoffed. "It's not guardians; it's philosophers."

"Does that means another teacher is going to be taken?" asked Ethan.

Scott swallowed, his jaw clenching. "Looks like we're going to find out."

"I'll call Stiles." Slipping into the hallway, I made my way to the girls' bathroom. I checked that the stalls were empty before locking the door to the bathroom and collapsing against a sink. The reflection in the mirror looked like me, but it didn't. My exhaustion was evident, and, worse, I looked angry. I pulled out my phone and called my boyfriend. He answered on the second ring. "Hey. Where are you?"

"I'm at the hospital. Cora's getting worse."

"Is it sad that the sound of your voice literally makes me feel better?" I asked. "And yes, I feel every bit as corny as that sounded. And I'm sorry about Cora, I think." I replayed the last hour for Stiles. He backed up my theory about the philosophers; apparently, Deputy Graeme used to be a middle school teacher. We agreed to meet at the recital tonight and try to stop another sacrifice. As our conversation dwindled to an end, I bit my lip and asked, "Did you…did you tell your dad?"

He reply was clipped and harsh. "Yeah."

I could tell he was disappointed, but I probed anyway. "How'd that go?"

"As well as to be expected. I, uh, I don't-I don't wanna talk about it. Not right now. I'll be there soon just, um, stay with Scott, okay? Please, Sam. Stay with Scott. Whatever happens, Scott will keep you safe."

"Hurry, Stiles."

"Will do. Bye, Sammy."

"I love you."

Stiles paused. "Yeah, you better."

* * *

><p>The memorial recital had a great turnout. A full house. Scott and I stood in the back, near the doors, watching and waiting for any sign of disaster. Lydia was there. She had finally come to accept the fact that, though we couldn't put a name to whatever she was, she was definitely <em>something <em>and she was just as much a part of this as the wolves were. Isaac, Allison, and Papa Argent showed up. Allison followed her father to the left corner of the auditorium to get a second vantage point. Upon seeing Scott and me, Isaac paused in uncertainty. The pup looked torn. Eventually, he nodded to Scott before trailing after Allison.

"What was that about?"

Scott frowned. "I don't know."

"Isn't he, ya know, in your pack since Derek kicked him out?"

"Um, I guess."

When Stiles arrived, I practically tackled him in a bear hug. "Thank. God."

Chuckling lightly, Stiles shot me a small smile and pressed a kiss to my temple. He clapped Scott on the back. "Everything okay so far?"

We responded unenthusiastically, knowing that disaster was going to strike at any second. The three of us huddled together and surveyed the room. With every minute that passed, the knots in my stomach grew. Something was off. Why hadn't the Darach attacked yet? What was it waiting for? "Is it just me or does it feel like we're missing something? Hey, where'd Lydia go?"

"She was right here," murmured Scott, whipping this way and that.

We glanced around before splitting up to check the hallways and classrooms around the auditorium. Only, our search turned up empty. Reconvening outside, Stiles held up his cell. "She's not responding to texts. Scott, can you sniff her out?"

Scott focused, sweeping over the campus with his wolf senses. After a moment, his face scrunched in anger. "I can't," he growled. "Damn it."

"Where would she have…?" I trailed off. Scott had tensed just like he had earlier in the school. "Scott, what do you hear? It's her, isn't it? She's screaming, again."

"I know where she is," he gasped. And then he took off.

"What? Scott?!" Stiles shouted after him. And then we took off after him. As a werewolf, Scott was much faster than us, not to mention his forty second head start. We followed him through the maze that was Beacon Hills High as best we could but we lost him near the cafeteria. "Fuck," Stiles snapped. After running around in circles for a few moments, Stiles jerked to a halt. "Wait, wait, wait. Did you hear that? It sounded like a scream."

I strained my, unfortunately human, ears. I didn't hear a scream but I heard the crash that followed. "Down that hall! Go!"

"There! That one!"

"Oh, my God, is that-? Ms. Blake?"

We reached the classroom door just in time to see Ms. Blake shove the teacher's desk. The desk must have weighed at least a hundred pounds. But with the smallest movement of her wrist, the behemoth desk slide across the floor and barred the door shut. "Hey!" Stiles roared, banging his fist against the door. He pushed against the door, struggling under the weight of the desk. I moved to help him, but it was pointless; we weren't strong enough.

Through the small, square window on the door, I could see Lydia. She was ducked tapped to a chair in front of the chalk board. Her face was smeared with mascara and tears, and- "Shit, Stiles, your dad!"

"_What?!"_

Sheriff Stilinsky crouched on the tile floor beside Scott, who was sprawled in pain. A knife was buried in the sheriff's right shoulder. Blake stalked toward him, and we watched as his father raised gun and pointed it at our English-teacher-turned-Darach's chest. The two began speaking, but we couldn't hear them through the door. We did, however, hear the bang of a pistol as Papa Stilinsky shot her in the leg. Just like at the shooting range, I jumped and shrieked, and Stiles thrashed even harder against the door. "C'mon! C'mon!"

We were pushing will all of our might, but Stiles and I were no werewolves. The door simply wouldn't budge. Struggling, we watched as the Darach reached Stiles' father. She bent at the waist and took hold of the knife in the sheriff's chest. I gasped. "She can't pull that out. Stiles, that's too close to an artery. If she pulls it out, he could bleed to death."

Apparently, that wasn't going to be a problem. Rather than free the knife from his chest, our teacher twisted the blade, Papa Stilinsky's pained cries ringing out, and lifted him to his feet by the knife. She was taunting him. That much we could tell, and when she ripped off his badge and kissed him, I thought Stiles was going to punch a hole through the door. Finally, the door began to budge. "C'mon!" he growled, and with one final shove, we managed to push the door just far enough for us to squeeze into the room and see Ms. Blake, in the form of the Darach – a mutated and slashed, bald creature – and escape through one of the classroom windows with Papa Stilinsky.

"No!" I shouted as Stiles jogged to the window, panicked, "_Dad_!"

Scott picked himself up off the floor. There was blood dripping from his mouth and pooling on his shirt. He skidded over to the window, prepared to jump out and follow them, but they were gone. Ms. Blake was the Darach. She had Stiles' father. And they were _gone_.

"He can't be a sacrifice. _Scott, he can't._ I can't lose them both, I just-" Stiles cried. He fell into his best friend, Scott's arm wrapping around Stiles' torso, and they collapsed to the tile together. My heart clenching, I tore my eyes from my distraught boyfriend and moved to Lydia. Cutting the duct tape away from her wrists with a pair of scissors I found in the desk, I helped her to her feet and checked her throat. Though raw and red, Blake hadn't been able to puncture her throat before the sheriff got there.

"Stiles," the strawberry blonde called to my boyfriend. Distraught, he looked up at her, his face fallen. "Your father saved my life. We'll save his."

Scott, his arms still firmly around his best friend, asked, "What now?"

I shifted my feet and leaned against the desk. "Derek. We go to Derek. We have to warn him, but…he's sleeping with her, right? I mean, of all of us, he's bound to know her better. Maybe she said something to him that will tell us where she's been keeping them and he just doesn't realize it. But we need to go now."

"Yeah, okay," mumbled Scott. He looked down at the slumped form of his best friend. Stiles was paralyzed in Scott's arms. Scott pressed his forehead against Stiles' shoulder and squeezed him tight. He was murmuring, his voice low and soothing, coaxing Stiles back to reality. Lydia blushed at the friends' intimacy and turned away, rubbing her neck. Eventually, Scott brought Stiles down, and they climbed to their feet. Stiles faced me, and the expression on his face killed me. She had _destroyed_ him. The sheriff was all Stiles had. His whole world. And she'd taken him.

"We failed him, Sammy," he told me. Gasping in pain, Stiles slammed his eyes shut and fought back a wave of tears. "We should've known. We should've-"

"Stiles, we did what we could," Scott argued. "And standing here blaming ourselves isn't going to bring him back. Sam's right; we need to get to Derek's. C'mon. I'll drive the Jeep. Okay?"

Stiles nodded stiffly. He sucked in his cheeks, hands fisted in front of him, and when he stepped forward, the moonlight that spilled in behind him shined off of something on the floor. I moved around him and knelt to inspect the sparkle. It was Papa Stilinsky's sheriff's badge. Ms. Blake had folded it in on itself like a taco. "Stiles."

I dropped the badge into his open palm. "We'll find him, Stiles. We'll find him. I promise."

**Annnnnnnnd review! For cookies! Metaphorically speaking, of course. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey everyone! I know it's been quite a minute since the last update, but there were further complications from the accident that ended up in me having to have a second surgery. It's been a long few weeks, guys. From now on, I'll be posting status updates on my profile letting you guys know if another chapter is going to be delayed and such, so you can keep up that way. It's something I should've done a long time ago, but, ya know, better late than never?**

**I am SO excited for this new season, and I fully expect it to inspire the plot bunny and give me more ideas and concepts for this story. **

**Anyway, happy readings! I love you all, dearly! **

**PART VEINTI****Ú****N**

The next few days passed in a violent haze. We didn't sleep or eat, but fueled up on energy drinks and coffee while storms and fights broke out all over the city. We searched everywhere we could think of, tried to trace his phone and track him down using security camera footage, but it was useless. There was no sign of the sheriff.

Then, Scott's mom and Allison's dad were taken, too, and so the Darach had all three sacrifices and, shit, that meant that they were all going to die soon. Cora was dying, too, poisoned from her fight with Evil Twin #1. Derek was so distraught, desperate to find a way to save her, that he and Peter were no help at all in finding Sheriff Stilinsky. Not to mention that there was still an Alpha pack out there trying to destroy, well, everything and steal Derek and Scott for their own.

That night after the recital I had to turn off my phone because my parents kept calling with questions I couldn't answer. They reported me missing to the police, but with Tara dead and Sheriff Stilinsky missing, we weren't too worried about the cops stopping us until all of this was over. Well, other than Scott's douche of a father, FBI Agent McCall. Talk about not seeing something coming.

He tried to detain Stiles at the school the night after Momma McCall and Papa Argent were taken. Thankfully, Scott's boss Deaton showed up and totally played Batman, rescuing our asses and letting us rally at his veterinarian office with Allison and Isaac. In the back, we hunched around an operating table, maps of Beacon Hills and the telluric currents spread out. They were talking low and fast and I was half-listening, half-not, running through all of the terrible consequences that would occur if we couldn't save their parents in time. I was in a haze, my eyes half-lidded, slumped against the counter. I didn't realize that I had been staring at a doggy growth chart until a hand coiling around my arm startled me.

"What?"

"You okay?" Stiles looked just as exhausted as I felt, a permanent sheen of panic-sweat on his brow. I nodded numbly and he forced a tight-lipped smile back. "Deaton thinks he knows a way we can find the Nemeton is, but we need Scott. We're going meet him now."

"He finally texted back?" I asked, arms uncrossing so that one could loop around Stiles' waist, the only way I'd been able to provide him some comfort since this misery began.

Scott had been ignoring us since that horrific showdown at the hospital. Since his mom was taken. We'd texted him a million times, and then some. He'd seemingly ignored them all, until now. Stiles nodded, "Yeah. C'mon. You're coming with us."

I followed Stiles out the back to his Jeep and noticed that Allison and Isaac were staying put. "They aren't coming?"

"No. Just us and Deaton."

"I can stay behind, if…?"

"Not a chance in hell. Until Blake is dead and this is over, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Neither Deaton nor Stiles spoke for the duration of the drive. Not wanting to be the one to break the silence, I burrowed my head in my knees and tried to take a micro-nap while Stiles drove. We headed to the shadowy cliffs of the Beacon Hills Preserve where Scott was waiting amidst a cluster of trees.

"How'd you guys find out they were at the Nemeton?" asked Scott in lieu of greeting as we tumbled out of the Jeep. Stiles answered, his words brisk, "Lydia. You?"

"Morrell. None of the other Alphas know where it is either."

"If this works, are you gonna tell them?" retorted Stiles. It wasn't often that Stiles wholly opposed his best friend, but he was super sore over Scott running off with a bunch of murderers. Even if it was the only way Scott felt that he could save his mom.

Scott replied tersely. "I can't stop Jennifer without them."

Deaton seemed to sense the tension. Moving between the friends, a parental buffer, he suggested that we concentrate on finding their parents first. The boys stared one another down for a beat before Scott finally submitted. "What's the plan?"

"Essentially," said Deaton a little too casually. "-you, Allison, and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for your parents."

"We die for them…?" Scott elaborated, brows drawing in confusion over his dark eyes. His words sent my stomach plummeting to the ground. "Whoa, I'm sorry, what?" I stepped forward. Flashing an accusatory glare Stiles' way, I snapped, "You didn't say anything about you taking their place."

"But he can bring us back," my boyfriend quickly added. "You can-you can bring us back, right?"

The corners of Deaton's mouth twitched just-so into the slightest hint of a frown. "You remember the part where I said it would be dangerous? If it goes right, the three of you will be dead for a few seconds-"

"S'no biggie, right?" I scoffed.

"-but there's something else you need to think about."

"Because death isn't enough to worry over."

"_Sam-_"

"I'm just saying."

Deaton was patient, calmly ignoring my snark. When I folded my arms over my chest, a sign of compliance, he continued. "This is a dangerous thing for more reasons than one. You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton, a place that hasn't had power for a long time. This kind of power is like a magnet. It attracts the supernatural. The kind of things that a family like the Argents can fill the pages of a bestiary with. It will draw them here like a beacon."

Stiles shrugged. "It doesn't _sound_ any worse than anything we've already seen."

"You'd be surprised at what you have yet to see."

"Is that it?" asked Scott.

"No. It will also have an effect on the three of you. You won't be able to see it, but you'll feel it. Every day. For the rest of your lives. It will be a kind of a…_darkness_ around your heart. And permanent, like a scar."

Scott's face contorted softly, thoughtfully. He murmured, "Like a tattoo," and swallowed, his jaw unclenching as he weighed the consequences of this decision. I knew what he would say. I knew what they both would say. Because Scott and Stiles were entirely selfless creatures, bent on protecting everyone around them, those they love especially, themselves be damned.

I knew what they would say, and it burned me.

"Oh, is that all?" I scoffed. Spinning around, I trudged back to the Jeep, my pulse thumping painfully in my ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was not okay. Stiles couldn't-and Scott and Allison, too. What if it didn't work? What if they didn't wake up and then their parents died, anyway? What if they all just…? "_Fuck_."

"Sammy-"

"You can't do this to me, Stiles. I can't watch you die," I spat. "How can you ask me to do that? Did you hear what Deaton said? It's going to screw with your heads! Like PTSD, or something. Stiles-"

"We have to try this, Sam. Our parents-"

"I am well aware of the situation, Stiles!"

Christ, why was I yelling at him? He didn't deserve my anger. This wasn't his fault. And just like that, I couldn't take it anymore. My legs decided to no longer give a shit, and suddenly, I was sitting in the dirt, my back against the front tire of his Jeep. I was crying and I couldn't breathe, and when I tried to wipe the tears from my face, my hands shook so badly that I couldn't. Holy hell, was I having a panic attack?

"Sam…_Sammy_." Stiles took me in his arms, crushing me into him until he was all around me, his scent, his warmth, even the sound of the gentle humming in his throat. I pulled at his shirt and held him to me. My sobs shook us. He was speaking, but I couldn't understand him over the sound of my hysterics. Realizing that I was rapidly descending into hot-mess status, I tried to pump my brakes and force myself to calm the fuck down. This only caused me to start hiccupping between sobs, but eventually I was able to choke out a string of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just tired, I can't-I'm sorry."

"It's okay, baby. You're okay," Stiles soothed, his long fingers stroking my hair. He put our foreheads together and forced me to look him in the eye. "Sam, it's…it's my _dad_-" His voice broke off and he licked his lips. "I have to at least try."

I clenched my eyes shut and focused on the beautiful boy in front of me, my fingers finding his cheeks. I cupped his face, breathing in his scent until it filled my being all the way to my toes. "I know…I know, I'm sorry. I just…shit, I need a nap. I'm okay. Sorry. God, I'm fine. I swear."

He kissed me then. His lips were warm and chapped and so perfectly familiar. After a few seconds, his lips dragged across my cheeks. Taking a shaky breath, I laughed against him, "Are you literally kissing away my tears?"

"M'trying to, yeah," he murmured. Pulling me into his lap, Stiles hugged me fiercely. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but we have to do this."

"I know. I'm just going to bitch about it until this is over and you're safe."

Stiles captured my chin between his forefinger and thumb. His honey brown eyes were seriously addictive. "Ditto."

When my little episode was over, we stood and rejoined Deaton and Scott. I laughed awkwardly to defuse the humiliation of the incident, wiping my hands, wet from my tears, on my jeans. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm going to play the fragile-teenage-girl card now."

"Consider it forgotten," Deaton smiled graciously. Clapping his hands, he declared, "Now that we have the plan-" He gestured the Jeep. "-shall we? The lunar eclipse is approaching. Every moment is precious."

Scott nodded firmly. "Let's do it."

When we returned to Deaton's office and the logistics of Deaton's plan began coming together, I sort of had another bitchy episode. It was brief, but at least an eight on the Richter Scale of Girlfriend Meltdowns. It went something like:

Me: "I have to drown you?!"

Stiles: "No! We drown ourselves."

Me: "Oh, ho, and when your body starts fighting it? When your lungs burst _inside your chest_ and your body thrashes in the water and _I_ have to hold you down! I can't-fuck, Stiles, you can't ask me to-"

But like the last time, I managed to simmer down and realized that we truly had no other options. We had to kill them to save them. To save them _and_ their parents, and stop Ms. Blake, who was perhaps the worst English teacher of all time. After crying in the hallway for a few minutes, I collected myself and faced my friends. No one commented on my outburst, or even acknowledged it really. Except Allison. She shot me a knowing smile that I somehow felt was condescending and in that moment I hated her a little bit. I hated that she was so together. So calm. Why couldn't she freak out like a normal teenager?

When the last bag of ice had been emptied into their three respective tubs, all of which were nearly filled to the brim with freezing water, Deaton asked if they each had brought something that belonged to their parents. A meaningful token. Stiles had his father's badge. Allison had some ceremonial silver bullet her father had made. And Scott had his mother's favorite watch. The vet had already explained that the person who would hold each of them down – Isaac, Deaton, and myself – needed to have a strong connection to them, "a kind of emotional tether."

"Geez, that sounds like a lot of responsibility," I had muttered sarcastically. A few chuckles rose from the room, and Isaac bumped my shoulder. He grinned impishly down at me. "Don't sweat it, Sammy. We'll bring 'em back."

I moved to Stiles, my fingers ghosted along his arm until our hands connected, our fingers lacing together. He gave a comforting squeeze and kissed the back of my hand. Allison looked to Deaton. "If you're pulling Scott back…?"

Deaton did not answer. Instead, he merely peeked at Isaac and the room came to a standstill. Suddenly, all eyes were on Scott. Swallowing, the young werewolf shook his head numbly, "It's okay…" Though his words were calm, he couldn't raise his eyes to Isaac's face, choosing to move forward and to the tub furthest to the right. Stiles followed his lead, and soon the three were standing tall and staring down at their respective tubs.

No one spoke a word.

No one wanted to have to say goodbye.

Allison was the first to step in. She lifted a dainty foot and gently eased her toes into the water. Stiles tossed a glance over his shoulder at me. I forced a smile and nodded. He returned the gesture before leaning forward to grip the sides of the tub. He and Scott lower themselves in at the same time because like everything else in life, they were brothers and had to do it together. Stiles sunk in all the way up to his chin. They were all gasping and shivering and cursing beneath their breath and I felt awful for them.

Stepping up, I ran my fingertips over Stiles' scalp. I moved from the base of his neck upward, and then back down again. The beautiful, altruistic boy leaned into my touch, nuzzling my hand like a puppy. His head turning in my grasp, Stiles told his best friend. "By the way, um, if I don't make it back and you do, you should probably know something…your dad's in town."

Scott's eyes became wide and round and his cheeks became even whiter. He let the information wash over him and then they were looking at each other, Allison, Scott, and Stiles. They were reassuring themselves. They could do this. Together. The three of them had been at the heart of everything since the beginning. And they would be at the end of it now.

Deaton and Isaac stepped forward on either side of me. Deaton gently rested his hands on Scott's shoulders. Isaac and I did the same with Allison and Stiles. With one final nod between Scott and Stiles, we pushed.

As Stiles' face slipped beneath the surface of the ice water, his eyes met mine and the urgency I saw in them shook me. He hastily said, "I love you," and then he was under.

They didn't fight death as much as I thought they would, and I didn't cry as much as I anticipated. I suspected Deaton had something to do with that, using some kind of ancient magic to ease their pain. When they were still and pale, we dried our hands and I asked, "Did it hurt them very much?"

Deaton sent me a kind smile. "I would like to think it didn't hurt at all."

"How long will they be…out?" I hesitated to use the term 'dead.'

"That," Deaton gazed at our submerged friends. "-depends on them."

"What do we do now?" Isaac asked. Deaton answered very simply, "Now, we wait."

After the first few minutes, I began to fidget. After the first ten minutes, I down right snapped at Deaton to wake them up. After half an hour passed, I full on panicked. There was no way they were going to come back. Not after being dead for thirty minutes. That much water in their lungs, no way. I screamed at Deaton and said bad things and pointed my finger accusingly and tossed up suggestive and mean hand gestures. Isaac ended up having to hold me back from attacking the poor man.

As usual, Deaton was cool as a cucumber and couldn't be bothered. He simply assured me that they were fine and countered my scientific reasoning by pointing out that we weren't dealing with science. We were dealing with magic. He was kind and patient with me. And so an hour passed, and then another. Then, two more. Then. two more after that.

It was the worst kind of waiting. Worse than waiting at the dentist's office for a root canal. Worse than waiting to have blood drawn or to get a vaccine shot. Worse than waiting in line for concert tickets at three a.m. in blizzard conditions. Worse, even, than waiting for the end of Papa Stilinsky's not-lecture that day he found out Stiles and I were having sex.

And it wasn't just getting to me.

"We can't just sit here and do nothing. It's been too long. The lunar eclipse is in less than ten hours. We have to do something."

"We can't leave them. I'm not leaving Stiles. You heard Deaton. We have to pull them back."

Isaac's pacing slammed to a halt. "So we're just going to sit around twiddling our thumbs until they wake up? It's been over _six hours_."

"What else can we do? Do you know where Blake is? Do you know where the Nemeton is? Do you-"

"We can do something! We can go to Derek. We ca-"

"You tried that already! He's too concerned about his sister. And if you haven't forgotten, the Alphas are still after Derek, so unless you want to fight Kali on your own!"

"_Enough_!"

The deep, timbre shout was so unfamiliar that Isaac emitted a low growl and spun swiftly on his heel while simultaneously shoving me behind him and shielding my body with his own. Prepared for a fight, his claws extended and his teeth barred, but it was only Deaton. I blinked. "I don't think I've ever heard you raise your voice before."

Deaton frowned. "Arguing isn't going to solve anything. You two should get some rest while you can."

We took the time to seem properly scolded, dropping down onto the bench beside one another. Isaac rubbed his hands on his jeans. His nerves were on edge. I pretended not to notice the way he kept glancing at Allison's tub. "He's right, you know. We should try to sleep."

"I don't think I can," he mumbled. I bit my lip and leaned into his long torso. "Me ether."

Some more time passed, and suddenly, Isaac went rigid. "Was that your stomach?"

I cupped my belly, offended. "Was what my stomach?"

"I think your stomach just growled."

"You can hear that? Dude, _gross_."

Isaac's dark eyes rolled, and he countered with, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Um…"

"Oh, my God, you honestly can't remember."

"Yes, I can. It was lunch, I think. The day of the recita-"

"Of the recital?! Sam, that was two days ago!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Lahey, I've been a bit busy."

He immediately stood. "Jesus. I'm getting you a cheeseburger."

"What? No, I-" But he was already gone. Alone with the incapacitated trio, I drew my legs up and rested my chin on my knee. I closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep, but it was too quiet and I was bound too tightly and I was, well, alone with three waterlogged corpses, one of which happened to be my boyfriend. So that was kind of a bust.

Isaac returned twenty minutes later with a McDonald's sack in hand. He dropped it onto my lap.

"One double cheeseburger. No onion. No tomato. Extra pickle. Side of fries."

My eyes instantly filled with tears. "You remember."

"Of course I remember. We were best friends for four years. I ate more dinners at your house when we were in middle school than I did at mine."

Unwrapping my food, I shoved a handful of fries into my mouth and moaned, unabashed. "I'm kind of pissed at you about that, by the way…why didn't you ever tell us what was going on, Isaac? Livy and I, we would've helped you-"

"I didn't-" A muscle in his jaw twitched. I paused from unwrapping my burger and contemplated reaching for his hand. Or at least rubbing his shoulder. The pale teen sighed. "I couldn't tell anyone. I was just so _afraid_ all the time. Even when Derek confronted me and he knew, and I _knew_ he knew, I couldn't say it out loud. I couldn't admit it. I just…I was ashamed, I think. And angry. So very, very angry."

"Isaac, you have _no reason whatsoever _to feel ashamed. What your father did to you…it was in no way your fault. You have to know that, right?" The werewolf mumbled something like, 'Yeah, now, I do,' and flushed a lovely shade of pink. Reaching over, I slipped my fingers around his and gaze a small squeeze. "I'm going to forgive you on account of we were just kids when it started, but shit, Isaac, no more, okay? You've got problems, come to us. We will help, yeah?"

"Well, I mean I kind of live with Scott so I think if anything comes up, he'll-"

"Shut up, smart ass."

"Hey, do you remember when we were obsessed with _Out of the Box_ and we tried to make a tree house out of cardboard boxes like the one on the show?"

A laugh echoed in my chest. Nodding, I picked up on Isaac's nostalgia and took a massive bite of my burger. "Yeah…we were so convinced that their tree house was really made of cardboard. Even though it had windows and stairs inside."

"Hey now. Those windows were real. They were drawn on with magic markers." Lahey chuckled and stole a French fry. And so, Isaac and I sat with the waterlogged bodies our of closest friends and loved ones, sitting against a ticking clock and rehashing the greatest moments of our childhood together like the summer Livy got her period and refused to talk to Isaac because he was a boy and he would just _know _and she would just _die, _and that one Halloween when we totally set my backyard on fire trying to smoke some weed that Isaac found in his brother's gym bag. That was the first and the last time any of us tried pot.

The hands began ticking faster and faster on the clock until Isaac couldn't stand it. Glancing at Allison's tub, he checked his phone. "It's been almost twelve hours. Sam…"

"We have not been sitting here for twelve hours," I rolled my eyes before snatching his phone out of his grasp. One violent jerk and a gasp later, I sighed. "…damn. How have we been sitting here for twelve hours? Wait, how long does that give us until the eclipse?"

"Eight hours."

"Isaac, what're we going to do? Their parents are going to die if they don't wake up soon."

"If they're not up by sunset, we'll go. Me and you. We'll got to Derek's. We'll make him and Peter and Cora help. We'll…we'll figure something out."

Thankfully, they did come to before the sun set. Scott woke first. Then Stiles. Then Allison, all within a few seconds of each other. The moment they did, their bodies instantly reacted to the freezing water and they propelled upward, springing up from the tubs and gasping for air.

"I saw it! I know where it is!" Scott shouted at us, half bent over, taking gulps of air. Stiles chimed in, speaking more so to Scott than us, "We passed it. There was this stump. This _huge_ tree. Well, it's not huge anymore, it was cut down. But it's still big, very big."

"It was the night we were looking for the body."

"The night you were bit by Peter."

They were talking so quickly, rapidfire, their words spitting out just seconds before the other's. Isaac and I shuffled awkwardly, Deaton silent beside us as we let them play connected the dots aloud. Shivering, Allison hastily chimed in, "I was there, too. In the car with my mother. We almost hit someone."

"It was _me_. You almost hit _me_." Scott admonished. The wolf turned to Deaton. "We can find it."

"Guys…" I murmured. I didn't want to bring their good mood down, and fuck, was I happy they were you know, alive and well, but…

"What?" Allison asked soaking wet, her shoulders starting to shake from the cold. Isaac crossed his arms. He was fidgeting again, and my guess was he was trying to look anywhere but at Allison's wet shirt. The one clinging to her chest. "You guys were out a long time."

"How long's a long time?" Stiles quipped. His eyes were on mine, but Deaton replied before I could, "Sixteen hours."

Scott wheezed. "We've been in the water for sixteen hours?!"

"And the full moon rises in less than four."

**So, thoughts? **


	22. Chapter 22

**A ton of thanks to **suntan140, Readingbeyondyourvocab, Dcutie, katiesgotagun, neoncitylights, **and **HungerG94 **for your awesome/kind reviews! You guys are awesome! To answer **Dcutie**, yes, I will be continuing this story into the second half of the third season. And I can't wait to get there! I've got some stuff planned that I hope you guys enjoy. **

**Just a note - every time I publish a chapter mentioning Isaac and Sam's childhood friendship, I get at least two reviews saying something along the lines of **"Oh, that's cool. Didn't realize they were friends." **Just to remind everyone -because it was so long ago- the background info about Sam and Isaac being friends when they were younger first came up in chapter eight and has been referenced to sporadically since. Basically, they were friends, along with Livy and Crazy Killer Matt from Season Two, but when Isaac's brother died and his father began abusing him, he pulled away from his friends. Yeah? **

**Anyway, here it is. The last chapter in Season Three A! There will be at least another chapter before we really get into Three B, and then the real fun starts. **

**Enjoy! **

**PART VEINTID****Ó****S**

"You know how to find the tree, so now we go, right? We go save your parents?"

It was Isaac who broke the devastating silence in the back room of Deaton's clinic, his unruly curls dangling haphazardly in front of his face, his lips tight in a thin line. Scott, Stiles, and Allison were snatching at a stack of towels that the kind veterinarian had presented them with, bundling up like burritos. The trio of friends was shivering and dripping all over the place. Their faces sagged with fatigue and terror.

Four hours. We had four hours.

"It's not that simple," Scott replied to Isaac in a low, grave voice. We all looked to the teen wolf, who was rubbing a towel through his sopping wet hair, a stern expression frozen on his young face. Beside his best friend, Stiles was propped against the operating table, also patting himself down with a towel. Stiles met my confused expression with one of his own, half-shrugging and asking Scott, "You mean because of Ms. Blake and the Alphas?"

"The priority is getting our parents out." Allison's voice was unwavering and strong, though she was shaking behind Isaac like a skittish Chihuahua. Her werewolf bodyguard scoffed, "Well, obviously."

"Dude, shut up," I nudged Isaac's arm. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I shuffled, my converse squeaking against the tiled floor. "I'm confused. Won't Blake be sort of neutralized, at least on our end, if we get your parents out? I say we get your parents to safety and let the Alphas deal with her." Scott shot me an incredulous look. "What? She's got plenty of blood on her hands as far as I'm concerned. Let them have her, Scott."

McCall gave the faintest shake of the head. "You know that's not the way we do things, Sam."

"Yeah, and why not?" Isaac piped up.

Allison swallowed. She flattened her palms against the exposed tops of her thighs, her wet dress riding up. She sniffled, a droplet of water falling off the tip of her nose. "It just isn't.

"Okay, fine," Stiles huffed. He looked to Scott. "So, what's the plan?"

The muscles in Scott's jaw flexed. The young werewolf peered at his boss, seeming to find some sort of anchor, some sense of calm, in the older man. Deaton nodded approvingly, and that was all Scott seemed to need. He took a deep breath and winced as he told Stiles. "Now…I got back."

Stiles' head shot up at record speed. "_No_, dude, you are not going back with them."

"I made a deal with Deucalion."

My boyfriend scoffed. He thrust his arms out, gesturing to us, "Does anyone else think that sounds a lot like a deal with the devil?"

"Why does it matter, anyway?" asked Isaac.

"Because," Scott sighed. "-I still don't think that we can beat Jennifer without their help."

Allison turned to Deaton. "He trusts you more than anyone. Tell him he's wrong," she pleaded, a cluster of wet bangs falling into her eyes. When Deaton glanced at Scott and murmured, "I'm not so sure he is," Allison looked positively wounded. Her face tightened, betrayal flashing in her dark eyes. She faced me and Isaac, searching for some sort of help. I shrugged lamely, apologetically, and Isaac did sort of the same, but placed a comforting hand on her knee.

Across the room, Scott's gaze automatically darted to Isaac's hand on his ex-girlfriend's thigh, and I swear, his eyes flashed yellow.

"Circumstances like this," Deaton's voice distracted Scott from his staring and drew the rest of our attention. "-sometimes require that you align yourself with people you'd normally consider enemies."

Feeling Allison tremble beneath his hand, Isaac must have felt compelled to speak up. "So we're gonna trust him? The guy that calls himself Death, Destroyer of Worlds? We're gonna trust that guy?"

"I wouldn't trust him, no. But you could use him to your advantage," Deaton replied quickly. Then, the vet elaborated, his tone low and soothing, like our own little Yoda, "Deucalion may be the enemy, but he could also be the bait."

"To what?" I asked. "Draw out Ms. Blake? I mean, that's what she wants, right? To kill the Alphas."

Before Deaton could reply, a tiny twinkling sound came from the front of the clinic. From the waiting room. It was the bell above the front door. The six of us looked questioningly at one another. Where we expecting anyone else? Deaton turned on his heel, slipping down the hallway to investigate, and we teenagers followed quietly.

Deaton had stopped at the end of the hall, well behind the safety of his mountain ash-lined counter. When Scott and Isaac saw who it was, their backs straightened, their ears practically flattening against their heads as they pulled up to flank Deaton and protect the rest of us.

Peering around Isaac's side, I snuck a peek at who it was. It was one of them, one of the Alphas. One of the twins. Judging by the relaxed demeanor of his face and the defeated slump of his shoulders, I was betting it was the Good Twin, Ethan.

"I'm looking for Lydia."

Scott's posture eased somewhat, but McCall remained where he stood. A solid blockade. A barrier between us and _him. _"She's not here."

"What do you need her for?" asked Isaac. His words were clipped, harsh. I could see his metaphorical hackles rising. Ethan the Alpha didn't seem put off by the hostility in the room, merely answering Isaac by saying that he needed Lydia's help.

"Yeah?" Stiles muttered. "With what?"

And finally, Ethan looked uncomfortable. Like, prostate exam uncomfortable. When he answered, he almost seemed regretful. "Stopping my brother and Kali…from killing Derek.

"Oh, what, and we're just supposed to believe that? We're supposed to trust you now?" Stiles all but yelled. He stepped forward aggressively, but was blocked by Isaac's towering frame. Ethan's face twitched, as if he were resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he ground out that he just wanted to help.

"I know Derek didn't kill Ennis," the Gay Twin admitted, something seeming to pass between him and Scott. "-and even if he had," the Alpha elaborated. "-it would've been in retribution for Boyd. But now Kali is going to kill Derek, and my brother is going to help her. I can't stop them on my own. Aidan…he'll listen to her. He'll listen to Lydia."

A tense beat lapsed before Scott moved. He passed through the swinging gate and emerged from behind the counter, despite Stiles' snort of discontent and Isaac's shuffling. He snagged a pad and pen from the register and scribbled something down, passing the note to Ethan once he was finished. "That's Lydia's phone number and her home address. You can probably find her there."

"What? Scott?" snapped Stiles, Allison speaking around Deaton's shoulder, "She likes going to Cherry Berry for fro-yo sometimes when she can't sleep. If she's not at home, that's where she'll be."

At this point, Stiles was nearly having a full blown panic attack, his shaggy wet head whipping back and forth, tossing equal looks of disbelief between Allison and Scott. "You can't be serious? Or have you two forgotten that he is _one of them_. He's—an—_Alpha."_

I set my hand on Stiles' lower back, my fingers gliding over his soaking wet tee shirt until I could cup his bicep and tug him backwards. My front pressing into his back, I slipped my other arm around his waist and held him to me. I pressed a quick, calming kiss to the back of his neck, my eyes rising to meet Ethan's. "No, Stiles, it's okay. Ethan's…he's a good guy, I think."

Isaac growled, "Look, we don't have time for this. The eclipse is in…just over three hours. Scott, we have to move."

Folding Scott's note in half, Ethan mumbled a quiet thanks, took one last glance at the rest of us huddled behind the counter, and left. Stiles was still rumbling with discontent when we filed back into the operating room, and Isaac seemed less than pleased. Crowding around the table silently, the five of us looked to Scott. Slowly, his dark eyes met ours one by one. The young werewolf's gaze was steeled with resolve. A quiet yet forceful determination that filled me with a certain confidence when our eyes met. We were going to do this. We were going to save their parents.

Nodding, Scott laid his palms flat on the table and faced his pack. "Okay, we know where to look for the Nemeton, but not the exact location. So we'll use our noses. I've got a lock on my mom's scent. I can find her. But we'll need something of your dads'. Both of them." He looked to his beta. "Isaac, take Allison to the apartment and get some of her father's clothes. I'm gonna run by my house and grab something dry to wear, then I'll meet up with you." He looked to his usual partner in crime. "Stiles, you and Sam go back to yours. Call me when you think you've got something with your dad's scent."

Stiles cleared his throat, his fist closing around mine. "We'll meet you guys at the trails by the entrance to the Preserve."

"Sounds good," mumbled Allison while Isaac clapped his hands together, "Great. Now, are we gonna put all of our hands in? Do a little team spirit rallying? You know, the whole _'_Aaaaaaand _break'_ thing? No?"

"No, Isaac," Allison and I chimed.

"No…?" the wolf echoed. He shrugged, "Just checking."

As Deaton folded the soggy towels and began cleaning up our mess, Allison and Isaac hopped in the littlest Argent's car, Scott speeding away on his motorbike. Stiles headed for his Jeep, but I made a brief stop at my car. I snagged my jacket out of the passenger seat. Then, on second thought, reached for something in the back.

"What the hell is that?" asked Stiles as I jogged over to the Jeep, sliding into the front seat and tucking an aluminum baseball bat between my legs in the floorboard, "You busted yours, right? At the hospital?"

He blinked. "It was Scott's mom's, actually, but yeah. Why…why do you have a bat?"

"I thought it might come in handy. It's my dad's. He played college ball," I replied with a small shrug. "Don't you think we should…?"

"Oh, right."

Stiles and I drove to his house as a light rain began to fall on Beacon Hills. "Well, that's not a dark, ominous sign," my boyfriend muttered darkly, glaring out the windshield. After he spoke, a roll of thunder clapped across the sky, followed immediately by a brilliant flash of lightning. Stiles whined, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. According to the clock on the dash, we had two hours and thirty-seven minutes before the lunar eclipse would begin. Time was almost out.

When we arrived at the Stilinskys' home, Stiles and I split up, having devised a plan on the drive over. I took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the sheriff's private quarters like a firecracker. Then, I jerked to an immediate halt just inside the door, abruptly feeling very dirty and very guilty. _Oh, this is so wrong. _I had never been in the sheriff's bedroom before. And now I was there to snoop. But as the storm brewed outside, a tree branch smacking against the side of the house, I forced myself to brush aside my sense of awkwardness, feeling, instead, the very real sense of urgency crowding our current situation.

Moving to Sheriff Stilinsky's dresser, I pulled open the top drawer. "Oh, geez." I slammed the drawer shut, immediately. I was _not_ looking at my boyfriend's dad's _unmentionables_.

"Okay, Sam, it's gotta be something he's worn recently," I repeated Stiles' early words to myself, walking in circles around the bedroom. "Something that hasn't been washed…"

I searched the bottom of his closet, tossed back the sheets on his bed, checked the bathroom floor. But there was nothing. Not one damn piece of worn clothing. Stomping my foot, I hissed, "Damn it," and dug the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Think, think, think. And then, by some divine miracle, _there_, hiding just under the edge of the sheriff's mattress, was a crumpled pile of _something_. I dashed over to the bed, dropping to my knees to examine the small lump. Upon closer inspection, I realized I was staring at a dirty pair of socks and a worn set of blue boxer shorts. "Um…"

I glanced around, unsure of how to proceed. After a few seconds of fidgeting, I settled for tearing one of the pillow covers off of Papa S's pillows and pushing the underwear and socks into the pillow case with my shoe. Twisting the bag shut, I skirted around the bed, bolting down the stairs to the laundry room. "Stiles. Stiles!"

"Oh, thank God." Stiles whooped when I showed him his father's clothes, planting a hasty kiss on my cheek. "Thank _God,_" he repeated. "There's _nothing_ down here. He must've done laundry yesterday."

"You're welcome." I tugged on his shirt. "You should change before you get pneumonia."

Stiles agreed with a hurried nod, swooping to retrieve some warm, dry clothes from the dryer. I helped pull his shirt over his head, the wet fabric sticking to his skin and coming off with a sloppy _plop. _He struggled a bit with his jeans, kicking them off with great frustration and almost kicking a hole in the wall in the process. As he pulled on the fresh clothes, I backed out of the laundry room and said, "Alright. Now, c'mon. You can call Scott from the car."

Outside, we were pelted with rain as we darted for the Jeep, wild winds whipping my hair into my eyes.

The storm was getting worse.

Once safely inside the Jeep, Stiles started the engine and I withdrew my cellphone, turning it on for the first time in nearly three days. It took a few seconds to power up, and then five alerts went off. Seventeen texts. Thirty-five missed calls. Five voicemails. Ten Facebook notifications. And a Snapchat from Olivia. I thumbed through the texts and missed calls, all from my parents, all desperately pleading for me to let them know where I was, or if I was safe.

Guilt strumming through me, I ignored the messages and hit the fifth contact on my speed dial.

Scott answered on the first ring. "Just grab anything-"

"We already did," called Stiles, half-twisted in his seat as he looked out the rear while he backed out of the driveway. I held the phone between us so that Scott could hear him, the call on speaker phone. "We got a pair of boxers an-"

"Stiles, I'm not smelling your dad's boxers," Scott cut him off immediately.

"How about worn socks, then?" I called, pulling on my seat belt one-handedly. Scott paused, "Socks?" He sounded resigned as he finally relented. "Okay, I'll smell the socks."

"How're things on your end? Did you get-" But Scott had already hung up. Stiles scoffed, "Well, then."

Locking my phone, I shoved it back in my pocket and instructed firmly that Stiles, too, put his seat belt on, the Jeep finally merging back onto the main highway. It was getting harder and harder to see with all the rain. Along with the heavy gusts of wind and rain, there was a thick fog rolling across the asphalt road. Squirming in my seat, I told Stiles once he'd regained control of the wheel to turn his lights on low beam. "It'll help you see better because they don't reflect the fog as much."

He did as I suggested, squinting at the road. "I can't see a fucking _thing_. Seriously, could this night get any worse?"

Actually, yeah, it totally could. Like, oh, I don't know, if we didn't reach the magical tree stump in time and rescue their parents, or if the Alphas decided to just kill Derek and Scott anyway, and Ms. Blake the Soulless Darach bitch escaped only to later release further horrors on humanity. Yeah, it could totally get worse. Absolutely.

But, um, Stiles seemed kind of tense, so instead of saying anything, I offered a tight smile and set my hand on his leg, squeezing affectionately. He took a deep breath, sparing me a brief glance. Clearing his throat, he flashed a forced smile of his own and asked, "How are you? Are you handling this, okay?"

"Are you asking because I haven't cried or screamed in the last fourteen hours?" I teased. "Don't worry, my next meltdown is imminent."

Stiles found my hand, squeezed, and in silence, we drove.

By the time we made it to the bottom of the winding road that led up to the Preserve, the clock on Stiles' dash told us that we had roughly fifty minutes to get into the woods and find their parents before the eclipse started and the wolves, both the Alphas and ours, were powerless against Jennifer. Stiles grumbled, speeding up just a bit. Every minute was precious, but if he drove any faster, he risked hydroplaning off the road because of the standing water gathering on the asphalt from the rain.

We weren't a quarter mile from the trails by the entrance of the Preserve when a tree fell in the road.

"Shit!" I shrieked, my hands automatically pressing down on the dashboard. Thankfully, the tree had fallen more so in the other lane and Stiles was able to swerve, barely missing the small trunk. "_Jesus_."

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, eyes trailing after the fallen limb behind us.

His head was turned, gazing out the back window at the felled tree, that he didn't realize he had started to drift, the Jeep veering off the road. "Stiles!" I reached for the wheel, hoping to steer us back to safety, but when my boyfriend turned and saw us headed for a fat pine tree off the left shoulder, he slammed on breaks—

and we went skidding.

Then, everything was gone.

* * *

><p>There was this noise. The noise was really annoying, and constant. It almost seemed as if it were growing louder. The noise was rhythmic. Some sort of rapid pattern. It sounded like gunfire rattling against a tin roof.<p>

_Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. _

That's when I felt the pain. There was a deep ache in my upper half, my legs apparently numb. I could feel the hurt deep in my shoulders and across my chest, and that's when I realized it was hard to breathe. Something was pressing down on my torso.

Everything was black, but the noise and the pain made me realize that was because my eyes were closed. I tried to force them open. They were _so_ heavy. Like sandbags against my face. I tried to reach for my eyes, attempt to pry them open regardless of what they wanted to do. But my fingers tingled too much. That's when I could feel my hips, and then the tops of my thighs, waking up. The tingling in my fingers seemed to consume the rest of my body, eventually worming its way down to my toes. I wiggled them in my shoes.

The noise was growing louder. Definitely louder.

And then, there was something else. Some _other_. Unlike the rattling gunfire, this new noise was warm but high. Too high. Unnaturally high. It was a voice. Stiles' voice. My boyfriend's voice. Pitched too high with concern and panic.

_Stiles_, I said. Only the terror-filled tremor didn't leave his voice, and this told me that I hadn't really said his name. At least, not out loud. Growing frustrated, I balled my fingers into fists. The gunfire, which I now remembered was rain, was drumming against my nerves.

"-it, Sammy! …do it!"

I felt a warmth on my arm, the pressure on my chest suddenly released, and then I'm slumping forward.

"…so much blood. God, _Sammy_…sorry…c'mon!"

Open your eyes. Open your eyes. _Open _your damn eyes!

"_Sam!_"

Gasping, my eyes shot open and—holy fuck, everything was blurry. "Stiles…" My voice was quiet, but steady and I could feel his hands on me, one on my arm, the other on my face. The rainfall was too loud, obnoxious, echoing off the hood of his Jeep. The hood, I noted through blurry vision, was currently smashed against the trunk of a pine tree.

That's right. We had crashed.

My gaze slid lazily across the dash until I found Stiles. I winced at what I saw, my hand twitching upward. "Stiles, you're bleeding." And he was. There was a cut on his right temple, a dark red stain blotting his perfect, freckled skin.

Stiles laughed loudly at my observation, a nervous, awful, wrecked sort of sound. "I'm okay, Sammy. I'm okay, but, baby, you…" He licked his lips nervously, damn near choking when I moved to sit up in the seat. "Whoa, whoa, slow down, okay?"

The hand that he held to my face moved against my skin, some sort of cloth brushing my cheek. "Stiles, what…?" I pulled away from his hand and realized he'd balled up the pillow case, his father's clothes abandoned in the floorboard, and had been pressing the cover against my head. The cream colored pillow case was now stained crimson. Gingerly reaching up, I touched the side of my face. I felt something wet, something wet but warm. "Oh."

"Your window busted," explained Stiles. At his words, my gaze shifted down and sure enough, my shirt, lap, and feet were covered in chunks of thick glass. "Don't, don't try to move too much, okay? You're gonna be okay, but…I think you cut your cheek pretty good. It…Sammy, it won't stop bleeding."

"Stiles, you're parents…"

"I know, but-" His eyes were rimmed. He swallowed hard and seemed so utterly conflicted. Ignoring the ache in my chest, which I now understood was from the seatbelt, I took the pillow case from his hand and pressed it to my face, wincing slightly and wondering why the airbags hadn't popped.

"You need to go, Stiles. I'm sorry I can't go with you, but you need to go. Your dad needs you." Rain was pouring in from my open window, and I was being slowly soaked to the bone. "I don't…I don't think I can walk, so you gotta go, okay? Go meet the others."

"_Sammy_-" His voice broke, shattered actually. The muscles in his face clenched and unclenched in rapid succession, a pair of tears slipping down his face. "I can't leave you-"

"Yeah, well, you can't stay," I snapped. "Because your dad is going to be sacrificed, yeah? Bashed over the head, strangled with a garrote, and his throat slashed. Remember? Your father, Scott's mom, and Allison's dad, so you have _to go_. I'll be fine. I'll call an ambulance, okay, but you _have to go…go!" _

Stiles jerked toward me. He kissed my lips twice, his fingers cradling the side of my face that wasn't cut to hell. "I love you. I love you. I'm so sorry." He pressed another quick kiss to my lips before kissing my forehead and reaching for my dad's baseball bat. He paused as he turned toward his door.

Whining, I mumbled some half-baked threat about what I would do to him if I had to tell him to leave one more time, and then he was gone, and I was alone, bleeding in the rain.

I was shaking. The tingling didn't ease as I tried to uncoil my muscles, tense from all of the adrenaline pumping through me. With Stiles gone, I seemed to feel everything deeper, feel it harder and _more._ It took a great effort, but I was eventually able to fish my phone out of my pocket. Only, I was trembling so bad that I couldn't unlock my phone. My fingers just shook against the screen.

"Fuck," I whimpered. The pain was really starting to set in. I could feel it radiating across my chest and a dull throbbing was starting to rise in my cheek. Before I could panic, I held down the small circular button at the bottom of my phone until I heard the tell-tale beep. "S-siri, call 911."

"Calling 911."

Two more beeps sounded, and then, "911, what's your emergency?"

**Reviews = Love. Just sayin'. **

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